Blindside
by The Magnificent Kiwi
Summary: When devastating news rocks their new relationship, Chris and Jill face the launch of the BSAA amidst a partnership that threatens to dissolve. But the presence of an old enemy soon places lives in danger, and regret is not far from the heart. C/J L/C
1. Prologue

**Blindside**

**_Prologue_**

_-+-_

**_Blindside _**_tr. v.  
- To catch or take unawares, especially  
with harmful or detrimental results  
- To attack from an unseen or unexpected direction_

_-+-_

**_March 30, 2003. 12:25pm. Washington DC._**

Thirty-seven. The exact number of minutes displayed by the carefully-polished hands of the clock. Thirty-seven signalled also the number of steps he had taken around the immaculately-woven rug in the centre of the room. Thirty-seven minutes he had been kept waiting.

No, no...thirty-_eight_.

He was sure that the wait was deliberate. On any other occasion he would not have questioned such tardiness - there were many schedules far more important than his own - but he had been the one to call the meeting in the first place. Never keep a guest waiting; that was what he had always been told.

'Nice to see they don't even live by their own rules.'

"Leon," spoke the familiar voice at last. "Come in."

He cast one final glance towards the secretary before catching the heavy oak door and pushing his way inside a much larger room.

Vincent Gregor did not quite live in the same world as Leon Kennedy, and the interior of his office was evidence enough for this claim. It was a superficial library in itself, ornamental books tightly packed onto shelves that lined the semi-circular alcove into which his desk was set, all the way up to the ceiling. A large window offered a view onto the front of the property, the midday sun illuminating the office with a brilliant light.

"This looks...comfortable," he commented.

Gregor remained stoically blank, and signalled to a seat in front of his oversized desk.

"Sit down," he ordered. "You requested this meeting?"

His eyes met Leon's, told him to explain himself and make it good.

"Yes, sir," he confirmed. There had been a lot on his mind lately; Gregor was known for his limited patience and there was no doubt that he would cut the meeting short before all had been spoken. "I have been...fighting Umbrella for the past five years, at your request. I have been watching the news; I know what is happening, even if everyone around here is keeping quiet about it. To be perfectly honest, sir, I can't help but wonder what is next? After all, you only hired me to act against Umbrella."

Gregor held his hands against the desk, eyes seemingly taking in every minute movement that his subordinate made, analysing his behaviour stealthily. Leon did not move, simply met his eyes and was sure to convey the fact that he would not leave until he had the answer he was searching for.

"What do you want to do?"

Leon blinked. Nobody had ever asked him that before. Sure, he had been asked how he felt about certain predicaments, but his words never had much bearing on what was to happen. What he wanted never mattered much. Truth be told, he was unsure of exactly what he wanted.

"I am...quite comfortable here," he replied, choosing to speak his feelings and hope that desire soon followed. "All my life I have felt powerless to intervene in situations that I can now help resolve. If it is at all possible, I'd like to continue to work for the government, in whatever capacity my services are required."

Gregor's eyebrows rose; he had evidently not expected to hear such a request.

Though his reaction had given Leon less reason to hope for agreement, he refused to feel disheartened over the prospect of redundancy.

"That is good to know," Gregor smiled; an unusual act for a man so uptight. "Your work here has not gone unnoticed, Leon. You have impressed many of us with your skills and your attitude. Such dedication is rarely found in a man so young; we would be fools not to extend to you a more permanent position."

Leon's shoulders relaxed. He had not been aware that he held himself awkwardly until relief removed all formality.

"What you have heard is correct," he was told. "The joint effort of the Russian government and anti-Umbrella operatives succeeded in dealing a crippling blow to the Umbrella Corporation. The courts finished with them a month ago; the liquidation of their assets is almost complete. However, the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium - as you will already know - is facing an unprecedented amount of backlash from the case. We require another representative to oversee the dismantlement of what remains of Umbrella. I'd like to place you in that role, Kennedy."

Was he serious? Leon pushed himself upright in the rather uncomfortable chair, trying to discern the meaning of his superior's offer. Surely it had to be a joke. He was no rookie, he had seen his fair share of horror; to place him in what amounted to a legal situation was nothing short of insulting. Had he been trained for nothing?

"With all due respect, sir," he began to complain.

"Just hold it there," Gregor chuckled. "A man who begins a sentence with those words never truly means them. I will be honest with you; I have an ulterior motive."

He studied Leon's expression for the briefest of moments, measuring his response. Intrigue and the natural reaction of overwhelming curiosity became displayed perfectly in the sudden narrowing of his eyes.

"Last week a Nigerian village fell victim to a plague," Gregor continued. "International medical staff were involved in the control of this isolated incident, and it soon became clear that the plague in question was none other than the T-Virus."

"That's impossible," Leon interrupted, forgetting his manners momentarily. "The T-Virus was property of Umbrella. Umbrella's research was all destroyed."

"All samples found in Umbrella's possession _were_ destroyed," Gregor clarified. "Though a small number were retained for the purpose of developing preventative measures, but all have been accounted for. We believe that a former Umbrella staff member sold the sample to a militant group. It was a controlled infection, though unfortunately there were no survivors. The Global Pharmaceutical Consortium is concerned over public reaction should this news ever reach the media. They have been searching for a means of buffering the impact and ensuring that the remains of Umbrella that have evidently drifted out onto the black market do not harm any more innocent people."

All of this information was beginning to sound familiar to Leon; a passing conversation between friends that he had paid little attention to at the time. There had been much talk of the post-Umbrella days amongst the ranks of the underground groups he had drifted through at the government's request; he was not out of ideas as to how the GPC could react to the recent infection.

"They were approached by several of your former comrades," Gregor explained. "They brought to them the idea of an anti-bioterrorism taskforce, and as you can imagine it all went over quite well. While this has little to do with the government, I believe that one day it will. We are not fools, Mr. Kennedy; diplomacy and carefully-worded speeches will get you nowhere in this world. One day, this taskforce will likely be bestowed the power to take a more...direct approach to these incidents. If viruses are finding their way into the hands of terrorists, it is likely that B.O.W.s will soon be the weapon of choice. When that day comes - and I feel it will be soon - a representative of the government will be required to assess this unit and determine whether or not they are competent enough to conform to what is required of them, at least on American soil – this is a UN issue after all. I would like you to be that agent, Mr. Kennedy. If I place you on another assignment in the meantime it is unlikely that you will be able to take on this new responsibility. So I ask you to bear with me and help us."

Silence fell around them as Leon contemplated the offer. The opportunity to once again be involved in the suppression of bioterrorism was more than his eager mind and just heart could resist, but the preceding task of tackling the legality of a situation that was far beyond his control did not appeal to him in the slightest. It could be years before this special unit rose to military importance. Did he want to commit himself to a task he despised on the off chance than he would eventually pursue a desired line of work?

"Why me, sir?" he asked. "If you don't mind my asking, that is."

Gregor smiled, sensing that he had already won the young agent over.

"You will doubtlessly have met several of the proposing individuals," he told him. "They will likely react far better to a familiar face than to that of a stranger in the government's employ. In fact, I believe that two of these individuals are close friends of yours: Christopher Redfield and Jill Valentine?"

At last, a smile broke on Leon's stubbornly straight face.

"Chris," he laughed. "He hates it when people call him Christopher."

The idea of a special unit trained to combat bioterrorism had initially struck him as odd, but he had previously worked alongside both Redfield and Valentine, and knew that a unit they had any part in founding would be a great success. Never before had he met two individuals as dedicated as the steadfast partners.

"I accept," he announced, spurred on by this new information. It had been far too long since he had worked with his friends; it would be a welcome experience.

* * *

**_March 30, 2003. 9:08pm. Arlington, Virginia._**

The comfort provided by a moment's solitude was incomparable. Jill always sought the outdoors when her head became too crowded with thoughts. Yet one element that had never been present in her previous encounters with solitude was the cigarette that rested limply between two fingers. It had been incredibly devious of her to swipe both the cigarette in question and a rather old lighter from the pocket of her best friend, but she doubted that he would notice. Were he to smoke himself, Barry would kick him out into the back garden, where he would stumble upon her and doubtlessly accept the claim that the lighter had fallen from his pocket.

She had always wondered what the fascination with something so deadly could possibly be. Though she had spent her life amongst smokers of varying degrees, she had never taken one of the toxic instruments to her own lips. The odour of second-hand smoke was enough to put her off. If it tasted so bad when accidentally inhaled, it must have been unbearable when drawn from the source.

Stress-relief; that is what many smokers claimed it to be. It was all part of their line of work, and she knew how it felt to crave release. There were so many reasons to delve into the world of tobacco, and the small white stick became more and more desirable with each one that passed through her mind. Stress, lack of sleep, the scattering of her friends, living alone after so long sharing bunkers and rented houses, boredom, memories she would much rather be without, the knowledge that a large part of their fight still loomed ahead of them, five years without sex...

She groaned as she considered every detail, her mind laughing at the idea of the last; the only predicament she had landed herself in by choice. There had been offers, men she had found attractive and likeable enough. But each and every time they made a move on her, she would remember a faint promise made many years before and they would limp off with wounded egos, likely to find another target for their affections. Exactly why she had chosen to believe him eluded her completely. Umbrella were finished, and yet she still found herself alone.

Flicking the lighter open, she held it to the tip of the cigarette and inhaled, lighting it with minimal effort. Then she spluttered, coughed, and generally wished that her taste buds were not so sensitive.

What the hell did he see in it? The taste was vile, the feel unpleasant and quite frankly obscene. How could anyone derive such joy from this?

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Chris from the doorway several feet to her left. "Is that my lighter?"

"What the-" she spluttered before another violent cough choked her words away. "How can you- That is...disgusting."

The cigarette was plucked from her hands, the lighter reclaimed as he lowered himself onto the bench beside her and took a long, slow drag. She reached up to snatch it from his lips moments later and stubbed it out before snapping what remained in half.

"You really shouldn't be smoking," she wheezed. "It can kill you, and it makes you smell like a damn ashtray."

"You've never complained about the way I smell before," he chuckled.

She could not pick fault with his statement. The scent of smoke had always been light against his clothes and had in fact become ingrained into her memories of his presence. Even when they had kissed, she had not tasted anything that had repelled her; quite the opposite, actually.

Frustration rose once again and she battered it back down. She had told him to reveal his feelings _if_ they still rang true; no speech, no feelings, it was as simple as that. She fought hard to shield herself from the impact of this thought but it stung regardless.

Five years of no nonsense and no complications had done wonders to their friendship. She would have gone as far as to say that their partnership had become quite formidable. There had been a time when she had wondered if their friendship - and therefore partnership - would ever recover, but she felt confident enough to say that they had never been closer. Yet somehow, she wanted more.

"Talk," he requested, gently nudging her knee with his own. "Don't say there's nothing on your mind; you've been like this ever since the court case ended."

"I'm just...sad," she admitted. "I thought I would feel different when Umbrella fell, but I don't. I still feel as though we're at war. Maybe I just don't know what to do with myself? This is all so confusing."

Chris considered her words in silence for a short while.

"Well, the GPC are moving to enable the taskforce," he pointed out. "That's something, I suppose."

"I suppose," she breathed in agreement.

Umbrella had fallen, but Wesker and Spencer remained at large. If Chris's summation was correct then Wesker possessed the T-Veronica virus, rendering him a serious threat. Aside from that, their revenge was still incomplete, and their souls would not be satisfied until both tyrants were held accountable for their actions.

Their fight was not over yet, and so a relationship was still off the cards. How many more years would it take? Would they ever find the targets of their vengeance? Though her heart longed for Chris, and would always truly belong to him, she did not know how many more years of loneliness she could take.

'Perhaps that blind date is not such a bad idea?' she pondered. If her thoughts were to be considered rational, it made sense to move on and to accept that perhaps she and Chris were simply never meant to be.

It was difficult to face reality when your mind lay elsewhere and she knew that her mind needed to be at its sharpest in the coming months.

"What will happen if the taskforce is officially sanctioned?" she wondered aloud. She had been curious since the day they had proposed the idea.

"I guess we go back to the way things were," he suggested. "Can't say I'm looking forward to the end of this reprieve, but I miss it all. It will be good to get back out into the field...with you as my partner. If you'll have me, that is."

Jill smiled secretively. Of course she would. Despite the many other comrades she had worked alongside over the years, she had never worked quite so well with anyone as she did with Chris. Their partnership was natural; they complimented each other perfectly. Loathe though she was to offer praise to their former captain, he sure as hell knew what he was doing when he placed them together.

"I wouldn't dream of saying no," she revealed, and bumped her shoulder against a much larger one to her left.

"Partners?" Chris smiled, offering his fist to her. Jill laughed and knocked her knuckles against his.

"To the end."

It was not without pain that she spoke these three words. Partners. That was all they would ever be.

Perhaps it was for the best? If the tentatively-named Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance was ever cleared for combat, a relationship could prove problematic in securing their partnership.

"I need to talk to you, Jill," Chris announced. He pushed his hand into his pocket, pulling out a lone cigarette. "Well, I need to tell you something, it's entirely up to you if you talk back."

His mind seemed far away from the moment, and he picked at the end of the cigarette, making no attempt to light it. Jill smiled inwardly, believing that he had taken one step closer to quitting. She had tried to persuade him into ceasing his habits for many years, but none had proved fruitful. It was not only a disgusting habit; she worried about his health.

"I'm listening," she let him know.

The cigarette fell to the grass. From out of the silence drifted the laughter of their friends, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the two were missing.

"Can we...take a walk?" he asked. Jill raised her head to take in the garden that encircled them; though the Burtons' house was large and spacious, the garden was modestly sized. There was nowhere to walk _to_. Yet somehow she knew that his desire was not to walk, but to move away from ears that could possibly overhear what he was about to say.

All she could do was oblige. He had been much more open with his feelings since the last catastrophic misunderstanding between the two. Enough pain had been inflicted to push both into avoiding similar circumstances. Though, while he had begun to trust her with his thoughts, he had still not warmed to the idea of sharing them with the others.

"I'm not even sure if I should do this," he admitted as they began to slowly make their way towards the far corner of the garden, a small area obscured by overgrown flowers and a particularly large apple tree. "Part of me wishes that I didn't mean it because, well...these past five years have been great, Jill. I have enjoyed working with you so much; you are amazing at what you do, I can barely keep up with you."

She was unsure of what his compliment meant, but accepted it all the same. The feeling had been mutual; she had been equally in awe of his prowess and working alongside him had been perhaps the greatest pleasure she had indulged in, in recent years.

As they reached the looming apple tree, he pulled her to a sudden stop, looking her in the eyes before he continued to speak.

"I don't know what effect this will have on our partnership, but I made a promise," he explained in a confident and rehearsed tone. "If the BSAA takes off, we will be working together for a very long time, and I need to say this before we have any chance of working together again."

He paused for breath and Jill found that hers had evaporated, sucked from her lungs before she registered its absence. She struggled to find meaning in his words, but each search turned up the same answer. It was unlikely, perhaps impossible; her mind was playing tricks on her again. Still, her hopes soared and she had to fight to keep her smile hidden.

"Jill..." Chris breathed. He fought with his own mind, battling to put words to his thoughts. As though to offer encouragement, she reached for his arm, placed her fingers against tanned skin. They were so different these days; more toned, with a deeper tan than he had possessed in his early twenties. Now approaching thirty, he had matured into the man she always knew he could be, both physically and emotionally.

It seemed that her touch was all that he needed.

"I love you," he rushed, words almost fused together. Panic flashed in his eyes, and in that moment he reverted to the mentality of a shy teenager.

Jill blinked. Slowly. The moment was too surreal to process, his words registering in her mind but meaning far from reach. Then, slowly, it trickled into her realm of understanding and something spectacular flourished in her chest. But she did not move, simply remained perfectly still to stare dumbstruck into his fearfully expectant eyes.

"I love you," Chris repeated, clearly this time. He voice trembled; a trait that was uncharacteristic for the usually confident man. "I have for years. I- I don't even care any more if you don't love me back. I just...wanted you to know."

It was then that she realised his words were not simply an admission; they were an offer. He loved her, and he was offering everything she had longed for with no strings attached.

She processed this thought several times, still unable to accept that the moment was true, and not a dream that she would be cruelly ripped from in a matter of minutes. He loved her? Though she had once suspected that this was true, hearing him speak the words still caught her off guard in a rather wonderful manner.

A hand rose to her mouth as somewhat of an instinctive reaction. Her eyes fluttered shut and she tried desperately to construct a reply. The initial, dazed urge to say "thank you" was luckily suppressed.

"Oh God," he gasped, fingers suddenly buried in his hair. "You're crying. Jill-"

"No," she laughed, using the hand that had previously covered her lips to grip the fabric of his T-shirt. "I'm not crying. You just-"

It transpired that she was in fact crying, there were simply no tears coming forth. It was a strange sensation, but she could describe it only as crying without tears; she squinted in the moonlight, her lips twitched temptingly and she could feel herself choking on the words she chose to speak.

"I...I love you too," she admitted. A weight was immediately lifted from her chest, words that had been left to decompose for more years than she would like to count suddenly finding their meaning and conveying what she had known all along.

The new silence that fell was a silence of stunned disbelief. Neither was sure of how to react to each admission; it was evident that not much thought had been put into the aftermath of the moment.

Jill waited patiently, just waited for the weight of her words to hit him. She saw the light slowly flicker into existence and suddenly his smile matched hers and he reached out to touch even the most tangible piece of her. Allowing his fingers to lay to rest on her cheek, she closed the final distance, craned her neck and closed her eyes in anticipation of the acceptance of her invite.

She felt his breath upon her skin before his thin lips touched hers. The back of his fingers brushed tenderly against her cheek and she found that both of her hands now clutched fabric, the heat that radiated from them both almost choking her. His nose touched gently against hers, fingertips drawing back until he cupped her jaw, the sensation of sparks touching upon her skin emanating from each pressure point. She drifted in and out of delirium as the world spun around her, the supporting hand at her waist all that kept her upright when the moment began to overwhelm. There was little doubt that this was love, she could feel it in the nervous passion of his movements, restrained though she knew they both wanted so much more.

There was no rush this time, no reason to separate. This was so much more than she could remember. She was older, wiser, and knew exactly what to expect from the moment and how to control the emotion that spurred it. They had freedom ahead; no Umbrella, no running and hiding...

Slowly, she parted her lips and released him prematurely from the kiss. Chris smiled down at her, failing to pick up on the sudden doubt that had crept its way into her mind.

"Damn," he whispered, suspended in punch-drunk love.

She did not wish to feel so detached from the moment, but it came naturally with the thoughts that descended upon her.

"What about Wesker?" she asked, finding that her lips continued to tingle. It was perhaps not the best idea to mention his name in the midst of an expression of love, but his continued existence troubled her. "Don't think that I don't want this because God, Chris, I do. But we swore that we would wait until this was all over before we let anything happen. It won't change how I feel about you, but...he's still out there. It's not over."

The smile that answered her worry told her that it was a point he had already considered. His smile became contagious and somehow the way that he held her, and brushed wind-swept hair from her eyes, reassured her that there was no question of what they were and what they could be.

"There will always be something or someone out there," he explained in a voice that was perhaps softer than she had ever heard from his lips. "Wesker is personal, and as of this moment he is not as big a threat as Umbrella were. Look, the time we enjoyed as friends was amazing and did us both good, but I don't want to look back in ten years and regret wasting time that should have been spent with you. I love you, Jill; no amount of distance between us could ever change that."

Whether it was his honesty or sudden abandonment of excuses that caused her worry to evaporate, she did not know. The only problematic thoughts that remained pertained to the years that had seen a coat of rust form on her practice of relationships and all that came with them. It felt as though she was starting from scratch, and this was one relationship she knew that she could not screw up.

'You are both in the same position,' she reminded herself. A journey lay ahead, but she knew that she would not be the only one to ride that rocky road.

"Boyfriend," she spoke suddenly, provoking a small reaction of surprise within him. The word did not sound absurd to her; in fact, it sounded completely natural, as though it were a title nature itself had endowed him with. She already knew him inside out, knew his likes and dislikes, which nerves provoked which reactions and what each level of silence meant. It was not so much a significant change to her life or to their relationship, more an extension of what already existed.

"I like how that sounds," she explained when his quizzical eyes met hers.

Her words, it seemed, were taken as an admission of want, and acceptance of his silent offer. The kiss was more forceful this time, relief expressed through passion. All the while his hands held her body to his, gentle yet firm in their insistence.

"Chris?" Rebecca's voice called out from what seemed like a mile away. "Jill?"

He let out a soft groan of irritation that she was sure she was never intended to hear. His bottom lip was trapped teasingly between her teeth as they reluctantly separated, bodies obscured from view by the well-placed apple tree.

"What?" he called, impatient down to the tone.

"The pizza just arrived," Rebecca called out, obviously making no attempt to step out into the garden.

"Alright," he responded. "Just let me...finish this cigarette. We'll be a few minutes."

Jill found his earlobe with her teeth, grazing it lightly in a move pulled directly from the memories of a night they had avoided for almost five years. It seemed that it was a move that drove him crazy even to this day as he reacted in kind, bending to place a series of brief kisses along her jaw line.

The intimacy struck her as strange for a couple in the early moments of their relationship, but she then considered the thought that they were far from a normal couple. Intimacy was no stranger to them; it had simply never before found its way into an appropriate situation.

"What are we going to tell them?" she breathed when his forehead rested against hers. She found that she was breathless, reacting to a kiss as she did to a five-mile run.

"Can we...have some time?" he requested. "They will never leave us alone when they find out and I...well, I just want to spend some time with you without the usual drama."

Jill agreed, but laughed all the same. Their lives were never short of drama, especially where interactions with one another were concerned. But something about the thrill of hiding their romance injected an extra measure of appeal into the idea and she nodded to signal her agreement.

"I love you," she felt the need to repeat.

And then, the moment was over and reality found its way back to the secluded corner of the garden. Their smiles remained as his hand rested on the small of her back and he guided her towards the gathering they had almost forgotten.

There was so much changing in their lives; the end of Umbrella, moving to a new State, the beginning of the BSAA, and now a relationship she had not, in all honesty, expected to enter.

Of all the changes, they both agreed that this was by far the most intriguing.

* * *

**AN - **I know that I said I would take a break before posting this, but nature struck me down and I've effectively been confined to the sofa. Boredom soon took over and I decided to finish off the prologue. As many of you will know, this is the sequel to Strength Through Wounding. Newcomers, please do not be put off; it is entirely possible to read this without having read the prequel (though there may be some confusion, but what isn't cleared up in-story I'll be happy to explain in a PM).

The story follows Chris, Jill, Leon and Claire in the early days of the BSAA. The genre I was a little stuck on, because it covers pretty much everything: romance, drama, horror, action, suspense (maybe, I'm not sure how good I am with that lol). Yes, there will be zombies, there will be blood and a couple of game characters you may not be expecting will return.  
That is all I am saying for now ^_^. The rating may change. I am leaving it as T for now, because the first part of the story should not exceed 'T', but I won't know what the second half will push it to until I write it.

I actually have to admit that I've been toying with the idea of a trilogy. I pulled ideas from a few scrapped storylines I had in mind when planning this, and a few would also work well into a sequel to this. I've always wanted to do a trilogy, but have never made the commitment. I already have an idea of what I would like it to be about, but I am committing myself to nothing. Let's just see how I fare with this and whether or not I have any creative energy left at the end ^_^.

I'll say a huge, huge thank you here to everyone who supported me through Strength Through Wounding. You are all amazing, and this story would not be here if it was not for your continued support and reviews. You know who you are...this story is dedicated to all of you. I hope it does not disappoint.

Disclaimer: If you recognise it, I don't own it. Resident Evil and all affiliated characters/locations/creatures belong to Capcom. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only, and no copyright infringement is intended.


	2. The Dark Side of the Moon

**AN - **I finished with this sooner than expected (which always seems to happen ^_^). I may not have much time to post over the next week or two (or three), but I will continue to write at every available opportunity, so the wait should hopefully not be too long.  
For some reason, I started listening to Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down when I was writing part of this chapter and it kept coming back to me every time I thought about it lol. But 'dark side of the moon' doesn't come from there...I just liked the allegory. I guess that's why the song became stuck in my head ^_^.  
I'd like to say a humongous thank you to everyone who reviewed the prologue. I was amazed by the response. I didn't think that many people would R&R this lol. So thank you all - _tek, MathiasMatt, .-SnipingWolf, Ivilith, Rock Lees Lotus, Ultimolu, Tani2, Anonymous, Ninja-Gnome, Sparkle Valentine, xwittychickx, xSummonerYunax, KT324, Kenshin13, Razial, J.L. Zielesch _and _Pet Seahorse_. Thank you also to everyone who added this story to their favourites and alerts lists!

* * *

**Blindside**

**_Chapter One – _**_The Dark Side of the Moon_

-+-

_"A great flame follows a little spark."  
__~Dante Alighieri~_

-+-

_Five months later..._

**_August 7, 2003. 8:45am. Dallas, Texas._**

"Don't you dare!" Chris threatened, glaring at the hand that drew ever closer to the car radio. Her fingers disobeyed his baseless warning and she ejected the cassette, throwing it onto the chaotic backseat.

"I can't think over the damn noise," Jill spat. Not once did she turn to look at him, far too concerned with the sights of a city she had never seen before - or perhaps the distraction they provided.

Chris swore vehemently under his breath, the heat barely affecting the coldness of the atmosphere that had fallen somewhere between Memphis and Little Rock. She had not expected any more from him, and he had expected a hell of a lot more from her; that was where the basis of their predicament lay. Friendly chit-chat had initially prevailed, until one word had been spoken out of place and suddenly they were being pulled over by Arkansas' finest and told to calm it down or cease from continuing their journey until differences had been settled.

No reason had been confirmed for the beginning of the verbal war, but both knew what it was that hung in the air between them; the one source of arguments over the last week.

"You should have taken a left back there," she pointed out.

"Shut up!" he snarled. "I know where I'm going; just keep your mouth shut so I can concentrate."

Her mild disinterest in the minor extension of their journey turned suddenly into a personal matter with his harsh words.

"Don't tell me to shut up!" she yelled. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"You, Jill, that's what's wrong," he shouted back. "You take the most innocent thing and you turn it into an issue."

"You're the only one with issues here!" she countered.

She knew that she had been a fool to assume that their relationship would be smooth-sailing from the start. Their friendship had often been volatile; love set the stakes far higher and suddenly jealousy and possessiveness came rushing forth. If things were complicated before, they had no bearing on what had pounced upon them the moment their lips had touched.

It did not help that they were each as fiery and stubborn as one another. A simple misunderstanding had the potential to turn into World War III.

"I'm not afraid to commit," he muttered.

It was as though a fuse had suddenly been lit inside her gut. Fury flowered like a barrage of flames, searing everything on its path to her vocal cords. A moment later, the car came to a standstill, traffic stretching ahead further than their field of vision allowed.

"Oh no," she exploded. "You remember that line we talked about? _That_ is crossing it!"

"Great, now we're stuck here," he fumed, ignoring her sudden outburst. "If you hadn't been distracting me, we would probably be there by now."

A closed fist collided with his arm, forcing him to turn and register the fury in her eyes. Part of him cowered at such a powerful display, but he was riled up and ready to fight stubbornly to an end he could declare victorious.

"Oh, grow up," she snarled. "I know what this is about. You're still pissed because I won't move in with you, right?"

Chris laughed, but she sensed admission in his hesitance.

"I'm pissed because you keep picking fault with everything I say or do! I asked you to live with me, you said no; that should have been the end of it."

"It should," she agreed. "But for the past two weeks, you have been acting- It's obvious that it's still bugging you!"

She released her seatbelt, turning when an erratic hand gesture almost caught his jaw.

"Why is it so difficult for you to accept that-?"

"Why?" Chris interrupted, jaw set stubbornly. "Why don't you want to live with me? We've been dating five months, in love a hell of a lot longer than that and most of your crap is at my apartment anyway. We spend most of the time together, what difference will it make if you just give up your apartment and make it official?"

Jill groaned, pushing anger aside for the sake of rationality; the only emotion that would ensure a swift end to the argument.

The traffic remained stationary around them, the warm Texan sun beating down upon the heated Chevrolet. Neither of them knew why the BSAA had called the meeting in Dallas, of all places; it was a UN matter, the meeting should have been in Manhattan or Washington at the very least. Hell, the Ministry of Defence was involved in the judgement of the transition from diplomatic taskforce to military unit; Arlington was not far from their home, surely that would have made a far better venue. Any one of these alternate destinations would have afforded them a much shorter and perhaps more pleasant journey. After all, it was the detour to Nashville she had been so desperate to take that had preceded the tension. A few, quiet days to themselves had evidently been too much to ask for.

"Because now I have somewhere to run," she answered. "I have somewhere I can retreat when I just want to be alone. If we lived together, we would be in each other's faces twenty-four seven and we're already tearing each other apart. If the BSAA is approved for combat, we will be spending every waking minute together in a war zone and it will be nice to return to my own apartment, soak in my own tub and lay down in my own bed, alone. Besides, it's…too soon."

He huffed quietly and she knew that her explanation had not even touched upon what he wanted to hear. That was where the problem lay; he only wanted to hear one thing and she was not willing to lie to him. Too much had been torn apart through dishonesty and well-meaning little white lies. It was either lay everything bare or live in two separate worlds.

"You're afraid to commit, Jill," he pressed. "Every time we face something serious you run away. Is it me? Am I the problem?"

"Partly, yes," she seethed. "You're too damn bull-headed."

"You know that's not what I meant."

The anger returned swiftly as her suspicions were confirmed. Chris was not insecure, she knew that much, but she felt that sometimes he did not trust that her feelings for him were true.

"I can't believe you would even insinuate that," she growled, eyes beginning to water in a deeply unwelcome move. "If I didn't love you, Chris, I sure as hell would not be wasting my time here."

Before he could return fire, she gripped the door handle and pushed, setting feet onto the hot surface of the road.

"Where are you going?" he groaned.

"I'm walking," she sneered stubbornly. "I won't stay here and be insulted."

"Jill!" His fingers found her wrist as she moved away from him, holding tightly but not painfully so. "Baby, don't go."

She pulled away violently and slammed the door closed before he could follow her out.

"Don't 'baby' me!" she warned him through the open window, tasting the venom that dripped from every word. "And you wonder why I don't want to live with you?"

With that, she marched away from the car. She travelled but a few feet when the extent of the tailback became visible; the Dallas skyline seemed to be miles away, and between the stretch of road that they occupied and the city, there appeared to be several hundred vehicles.

'This was a stupid idea,' she realised.

The traffic moved, slowly but surely, and the SUV to her left was suddenly half a dozen feet further towards the city than it had been moments before.

"Are you going to get in?" Chris asked as the silver Chevrolet rolled up beside her. She tried to ignore his deep, irritating voice, but the chuckle that followed was almost enough to drive her mad.

"Get lost," she spat. As luck would have it, traffic stopped once again and the Chevy fell behind, Chris's voice disappearing with it.

"Jill!"

She was aware of the childishness of her behaviour, but she could think of no other way to react to his argument. Sometimes, talking to him was about as useful to the situation as walking away; at least by walking she could retain some part of her sanity.

Footsteps sounded behind her and she was spun around without a moment's warning, forced to face the man whose mere presence riled her.

"This is ridiculous," Chris pointed out. "Please, just get in the car and we'll try to be civil about this."

She glared stubbornly. This was not a battle she was willing to lose.

"Can you even remember how this argument started?" he asked.

A pause for thought turned into a minute's silence as she replayed the previous day in her mind. Truth be told, she could not remember the exact moment a romantic night in Nashville had turned into the threat of a citation. She failed to remember why they had begun to argue in the first place; it had simply just happened. No blame could be placed, no reasoning acceptable. All it had been was a misunderstanding she could no longer recall. It could very well have been entirely her fault.

"Come on," Chris laughed as he recognised the look of defeat that fell into her eyes. "Get back in the car. There's a junction up ahead we can exit on; we'll be at the hotel soon."

His hands held her waist softly and lips pressed against her temple. She did not react to his affection, but did not push him away; it was a small victory in his eyes.

"I love you," he insisted. "This isn't worth it. Alright, I still don't understand why cohabitation is such a big deal to you, but I shouldn't have questioned your feelings. I'm sorry. You still love me?"

He spoke these final words with a daring smile, and though her eyes still glistened with malice, she had yet to throw him to the ground, which he knew she was more than capable of doing.

"That's the problem," she growled as she pushed him away playfully.

From somewhere in the lane of cars to their right, quiet applause could be heard when she allowed him to pull her into a tight embrace.

The traffic moved once they were settled back into the comfortable seats of Chris's car, and though there was not a word exchanged between the two, the air was far warmer now that an amicable agreement had been reached.

They were lucky enough to reach the hotel with an hour to spare; more than enough time to unpack and wash up before the summit. With the GPC footing the hotel bill, all issues were gratefully lacking the nasty bite of financial trouble. The years they had spent working underground, funding the fight with their own money, had left their finances in a sorry state; only now were they beginning to crawl out of debt and into a more comfortable way of living.

Jill seemed to arrive at the same conclusion as her boyfriend; thank the Lord the rate was not coming out of their own pockets. They had both initially expected to be placed in a motel or at the very least the cheapest option available; it appeared that they were the only two in the lobby not wearing business attire and pulling suitcases that likely would have set them back a month's rent.

"We have a booking under the name of Redfield," Chris offered, snapping Jill from her awestruck thoughts for a moment. The receptionist made a mark upon the book before her and smiled politely at each half of the couple as she placed two key cards upon the desk.

"Is our room a double?" she asked, pricking at Chris's suspicion.

"Yes, ma'am," the receptionist smiled. "Room five-oh-four."

"That's great," Jill chirped in a sickeningly sweet voice. "But would it be possible to change to a twin? Or two singles, preferably on opposite sides of the hotel?"

The receptionist blinked in confusion, her eyes flitting suddenly to a rather red-faced Chris.

"We're on our honeymoon," he joked.

"Could you perhaps book him into one of your suites?" Jill asked through gritted teeth, held awkwardly to him by an overly insistent arm. "It's likely that a tragedy will befall him before the weekend is over, so it would be best if we could make his last days as comfortable as possible."

The receptionist stuttered, not quite sure what to make of the strange display.

"We…uh…I'm sorry, but we're fully booked at the moment?" she tried.

"She's just messing around," Chris laughed sarcastically, taking the key cards they had been offered. "Right, honey?"

She was pulled suddenly as he turned, the weight of her bag causing her to stumble as it pressed into her side. Though she still felt irritated to the back teeth with his inability to accept that she just wanted her own space, she allowed a laugh to ring out. Somewhere along the line, hostility had morphed into somewhat of a joke. As usual, she could not see the point at which the two differing states merged.

Hot and cold had been the way many others had described their relationship and she agreed with them to a certain extent; if they were not ripping at each other's clothes they were ripping at each other's throats. Their friendship had not been so different, but these days she recognised that making up was a hell of a lot more fun. Because that's what they were doing; having fun.

It was easier to think of it in these simple terms. Love had a nasty tendency of complicating things.

* * *

**_August 7, 2003. 1:00pm. Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, Texas._**

The heat was perhaps the only aspect of Texas that Claire had failed to anticipate and, looking back, it seemed the most ridiculous oversight that she could make. With a short pause and a quick shuffle out of the heavier of her items of clothing, her jacket soon found its way into the top of her lightly-packed suitcase and she was able to continue on her way without the itch of perspiration against her skin.

She hoped that she had timed the flight correctly; she was sure that her brother's meeting would be over by now. If not…well, she had a long wait ahead of her. She was unsure if she had even been booked into the correct hotel.

"Excuse me ma'am," spoke an intrusive voice as she made for the exit and the hopeful breeze that lay beyond. "I'm going to have to ask you to step aside."

There were perhaps two or three seconds between that moment and the moment she planned to launch a verbal assault upon whichever bigwig had chosen to stop her this time. But two seconds was all it took for her to register the familiar tone of the voice and smile sarcastically.

Sure enough, he was there when she turned, all five feet and ten inches of him, that cocky grin she had never witnessed upon his features prior to his spending time with her brother. Even his posture as he rested against the wall seemed to mock her in a friendly manner; so self-assured, so…irritating.

"Come here," she demanded, waving hastily in a beckoning motion with a hand on an outstretched arm.

"It's good to see you," Leon laughed as he accepted her arm and pulled her into a crushing embrace.

"What are you doing here? How did you even know I was on my way?"

"Chris talks a lot," he explained with a smile. "You want me to get that?"

Claire followed his gaze to her small, pink case and laughed beneath her breath.

"I think I got it," she brushed off. "There better be a car waiting outside. A limo, actually, Mr. Hot-Shot Agent."

Leon's arm remained around her shoulders as they walked; a stark contrast to the awkward nickname she had bestowed upon him. At twenty-six years old, his maturity far outshone his chronological age, but it pleased her to see that beneath the stern exterior he retained the youth she felt had been stripped from them all by Umbrella. She had feared that the government would rob her of the cheery friend she had once known, but it seemed that he saved all of his jokes for the rare times he found himself off duty.

Robocop was another nickname she had handed him, so stern was his behaviour when deeply embroiled in a case. Perhaps it was this friendly jibe that had encouraged him to lighten up around her?

"Chris will be glad to see you," he told her, seriousness settling in after a short pause for laughter. "He misses you. And…let's just say he wasn't exactly the picture of happiness when the meeting was adjourned."

"Oh," Claire spoke solemnly, suddenly putting two and two together and stumbling across the reason for his presence in a city far from his home. "Let me guess, the Consortium roped you into the whole BSAA deal?"

"Something like that," he confirmed, smile now drifting away on the none-existent breeze as they stepped through the airport entrance. "The decision to award them combat status was made quite easily; the meeting was a mere formality. But, the government wants one of their own to have an inside view of the first mission, to ensure that their decision was the right one."

Chris would not have been happy with this, she realised. He often ranted about the government's incompetency where Wesker and Spencer were concerned; though both men were currently hovering near the top of the FBI's most wanted list, nobody seemed to be making an active effort to find them. In reality, the authorities were dedicated to locating the two fugitives, but it was nowhere near aggressive enough for Chris's liking. Her brother was often like a pit-bull; let him sink his teeth into something and it would be torn to pieces before he let go.

"So when is this mission?" she felt obliged to ask.

"A little over two weeks," he answered. "They're rushing the medical this afternoon, results should be back within a week and hopefully all of the preliminary planning will be finalised by then. I think it's a damn stupid idea to rush this, but they want the unit up and running ASAP. I guess this is the test run."

Claire did not like the sound of this. Chris and Jill would likely be forerunners of the assignment, and their ordeal had begun when they were forced to act as guinea pigs five years previously. They may have been desperate to be of use again – did she ever know how that felt – but she feared that the circumstances were far too dangerous.

"Don't look so disheartened," he urged. "I'll be there, as will the Redfields; it will all work out."

She chuckled at his words. Fighting had been a favoured pastime of Chris and Jill since the day they met; the instigation of a relationship was one step closer to the 'old married couple' stereotype they were often afforded. Needless to say, when Barry revealed the collective nickname Joseph Frost had devised, they were sure to mention it at every available opportunity.

"Strange, though," Leon mused. "Of the original eleven, Chris and Jill are the only members involved in this mission."

"If it proves to be as chaotic as you assume, do you blame the others?" she asked grimly. "My brother has no concept of danger, and neither, it would appear, does Jill."

Leon's arm slipped from around her with a faint laugh. The air was cool for a summer's day, but still far warmer than either of them was used to.

"I assume you will be accompanying us when everything is set in motion?"

Claire nodded. He need not have asked.

"Where are we going?"

"No idea," he confessed. "Everything is being hushed up until the team is selected. Until then, make yourself comfortable."

Her eyes followed the direction of an outstretched hand and she could not contain her joy when she caught sight of the sleek black Bentley that waited obediently by the entrance.

"Oh, now you're just showing off."

* * *

**_August 7, 2003. 1:25pm. Dallas, Texas._**

A second glass shattered, though this time it had been entirely accidental. Was one drink too much to ask for? With an irritated sigh, Chris placed the bottle back into the bar and scooped the shattered glass into an unsteady hand.

"Be careful," Jill warned as she stepped from the ensuite, removing a small earring from her lobe.

"I am!" he fired back. "Damn it, how long do we have?"

"About three hours," she chuckled. "Look, just lie down and try to relax. You've been on your feet all day."

He considered pointing out that the only reason he had been 'on his feet all day', so to speak, was that she had picked a fight with him and he had been consequently relegated to the uncomfortable floor of their motel, meaning that he was lucky if he had achieved two hours' sleep. But he had learned not to pick fights with her merely for the sake of it; while she would meet his rage with her own equally frightening fury, she had come to distinguish true arguments from those he had instigated for the sake of it and would not react when the latter occurred. It was annoying as hell, but he would admit that he had learned to kick this bad habit thanks to her efforts.

"I just don't understand why the God damn government have to be involved in this," he vented as he rose to his feet. "The last thing we need is some suit telling us what to do. This is _our_ unit!"

"It's one mission, Chris," she sighed and reached out to place a soothing touch upon his arm.

He pulled away and dropped down onto the edge of the large bed, fearful that anger would cause his legs to buckle.

"And Spencer is one man. Look at how they're handling that. Damn it, they should both have been brought in by now! All we are facing is setback after setback."

Jill did not have a reply to offer to this and disappointment surfaced; he was seeking reassurance and encouragement. If she could not offer it then perhaps there was none to be sought. He did not like to feel tested and this was exactly the position the government was putting them in; if they passed this mission, they would find endorsement from the President himself, if not then it was back to square one.

He felt the mattress bend behind him as she climbed onto the bed, warm fingertips pressing against his neck a moment later.

"I understand that you are angry," she insisted. "But you need to calm down otherwise your blood pressure will be through the roof and you will fail this medical. If that happens, you won't be on this assignment."

"That's easy enough for you to say," he huffed. "It's been months since the court case, and not a single lead has turned up."

Her fingertips glided across the base of his neck, tracing hard contours until they pressed into the knotted muscle of his shoulders. He could almost feel the tension dissipate beneath her touch; she always had been rather talented with her hands.

"Spencer should be behind bars by now," he continued to rant, concentration beginning to wane. "He should...pay for...for..."

Her touch was like medicine; more disorienting than a sedative and far more effective than anger management therapy. It was as though her fingers massaged thoughts right out of his mind. When her white hot lips pressed to the top of his spine, he knew that there was absolutely no point in even attempting to hold on to his anger.

In that moment he was filled with comfort of the highest level; love, crushing all the negativity he had felt barely a second ago. No other woman had ever had such an effect on him. While it had once terrified him, he had learned to accept it and to do his damn best to repay all that she did for him.

He knew that while they drove each other crazy on occasion, what they had was worth a lifetime of disagreements.

"You were saying?" she purred. He could hear a smile on her voice.

"How do you do that?" he grunted, annoyed that he had not an angry thought left in his mind.

She simply laughed, and continued to work the strain from his shoulders.

With no background noise drowning out his thoughts, they turned, as they always did, to her. Jill always tried hard not to let her worry show, but he knew her better than to believe her waning smile. Initially, he had not understood why she closed her heart and mind when he found it much easier to wear his negative emotions where the world could see them. Now he knew. So many people looked up to them, and they were responsible for each of them in a capacity that far surpassed physical guidance. They were the pillars that upheld morale; if they faltered, so too did the team. Though she herself may have often claimed otherwise, she was selfless in his eyes, always placing the wellbeing of others before her own comfort. It was a trait that often worried him; he had seen many soldiers fall at his side through selflessness. It was the price of being a hero, and though he loved her every flaw, this was one he feared immensely.

"How do you feel about this?" he asked as he raised a hand back over his shoulder to hold hers. "It's such a sudden change."

"It is," she agreed. "But I'll be fine. At the end of the day, there is not much we can do other than obey for now and hope we make it past this initial hurdle in one piece. If we have to suffer a little now, so be it."

She slipped her arms beneath his and rested her head on his shoulder, unable to resist tickling his ribs gently.

"But..." she added as a darkly considered afterthought. "I am worried. Not about the mission or about the BSAA...about us."

He took her fingers into his hand but remained quiet. Whether it was from shock or from the inability to question those two frightening words, he did not know. But he allowed her to speak, and hoped that his touch upon her skin was enough to show her that there was nothing she should worry about; their argument was routine, and something so trivial would not affect their relationship in the slightest. He knew better than to let her slip through his fingers again.

"The BSAA in its current form has no policy regarding inter-office relationships," she breathed. "But if we are granted clearance, it will essentially be a military unit. There are rules...regulations. At the very least we will be allowed to keep our jobs, but will be prohibited from working as partners. I don't want that, not after all these years."

Chris was contemplative. It was a thought that had crossed his mind many times, but he continuously refused to view their relationship as problematic. Whether they were boyfriend and girlfriend or simply boy and girl, his attitude towards her and towards the task at hand would not change. He would gladly risk his life for hers either way, as she would for him and as both would for any other member of their team. It was not a matter of love or emotions; it was a simple matter of morals and selflessness.

'There goes that word again,' he thought glumly. How selfless could one person be before tragedy followed?

"Their rules won't change anything," he told her. "If they have a problem with us, we'll fight them on it. We're the best damn agents they have; they won't let us go over this."

She laughed into his neck before sliding beside him and offering a chaste kiss. As usual, he took what was offered and ran with it. Surely she could not have expected her ministrations to have any less of an effect on him? He knew when to be gentle and when she was willing to handle more, but rather than wait for her signal this time, he slipped his tongue past her lips, letting her know exactly what he wanted.

That was when she pulled away, mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"I'm not sleeping with you," she laughed.

"Why not?"

"Because," she chirped and hopped to her feet. "I'm still mad at you."

Chris laughed. She had to be joking.

"As stupid of me as it was to take your stubbornness to heart, there was blame to share," he reminded her.

"Alright," she relented, smile not fading. "I agree, we were both equally to blame. I accept that, but I also reserve my right to refuse you and we are not having sex today."

Jill Valentine may have been strong, selfless and kind-hearted, but she was also as devious as the devil itself.

"Well, two can play at that game," he countered. "You're not winning this one, Valentine."

As she began to laugh, ready to follow his plan and retort in a move that would bring her one step closer to his arms, a tentative knock sounded against the door.

"Is it safe to come in?" Claire's voice asked, muffled by the polished oak.

She did not wait for a reply, and pushed open the door slowly, chancing a glance into the room before deeming the coast to be clear and stepping inside.

"Hey, I'm glad you made it," Chris beamed. He found her in moments, embracing her in a vice-like bear hug that she saw fit to rival with a death grip of her own.

He had lost count of the weeks that had flown by since their last meeting; life was far too hectic these days. As expected, she had remained closely at his side through most of the underground days, but no sooner had the hammer fell, she had found her own apartment and her own job far away from his life. She was no child, but in his mind she would always be his little sister. Family always came first and it was difficult for him to accept that the life she had made for herself meant that time together was often limited.

"I have good news," she announced, catching his eye in a manner that signalled understanding. "I got a new job! A managerial position, actually. _Lower_ management, but it's a step forward."

"Congratulations!" Jill said with a smile, reaching over to offer a welcoming embrace. Her eyes flitted to Chris's a moment later; of course, he had forgotten to mention that his sister would be joining them.

"I'll leave you two to catch up," she excused with a wink, before slipping out into the hallway and closing the door carefully behind her.

"So..." Claire began once they were alone. "Leon filled me in. Not exactly what you were expecting, huh?"

Chris sighed. He did not enjoy falling into deeply political discussions with his sister. While he could discuss the mechanics of the organisation he helped found until he was blue in the face, her interest in the subject was purely superficial.

"In many ways, yes," he admitted. "In a blinded way, no."

She patted his shoulder; reassuring without being condescending. Her raising of the topic of the disastrous meeting had effectively removed all joy from the reunion and suddenly most of Jill's work unravelled, anger seeping back into his consciousness.

But then a switch was flicked somewhere in the swirling depths, and he tuned in to words that had previously been processed solely out of habit.

"Leon?" he asked, though it was unnecessary of her to answer. "Wait a minute...Leon? He's the agent the government put on our case, right?"

Claire drew in a sharp breath through her teeth and turned her attention to the bar.

"He didn't tell you that, huh?" she asked, ice crackling as she poured a healthy serving of liquor into one of the few glasses that remained intact.

"I didn't even know he was in town," Chris chuckled. "He must have been hiding at the back."

Leon's presence changed things. He knew Leon, trusted him even. They had saved one another's necks enough times to allow for a mutual sense of camaraderie to fall between the two, if little else. He was far too busy to allow for a deep friendship to develop, but he was a good enough guy and Claire's faith in the man encouraged unconditional trust.

Suddenly, the anger retreated back to the hole into which Jill's greatly appreciated efforts had previously chased it. Leon was not some faceless suit. Yes, this changed everything. It also explained the impromptu phone call he had received three days ago; he was unaware that Leon knew where he lived, let alone possessed his unlisted number.

"I can almost see a smile there," Claire teased.

He cast her a warning glance, but she laughed it off and sipped at her cold beverage. Sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds and shadows fell upon her face, but little blemishes were to be found. Cool blue eyes were emphasised by the matching red hue of her natural hair tone, reflecting the weight of her personal burden but glistening joyously nonetheless.

That she had made it through their war unscathed, he would be eternally grateful for. He had watched Jill's once flawless skin bruise and break before his eyes, Rebecca's bones facture from toil her body was simply not equipped for; Claire at least had remained intact through the majority of their struggle. He had seen to it that this was so. If he could not protect his best friend, or the mentor who had taught him all that he knew of law enforcement, then he could sure as hell protect his younger sister.

"I'm proud of you," he wanted her to know. "You've made a better life for yourself than any of us ever could."

Claire frowned, eyes dropping to the splash of liquid that remained in the glass. She seemed not to know how to word a reply, even what words would be appropriate.

"Not better," she explained. "Just...safer. Less meaningful, perhaps. I guess you're always proud of what you're not."

With a wry smile, she drained the glass and pushed it to the back of the bar, raising a hand to still a hiccup that rose in her throat.

"Anyway," she announced, abruptly changing the subject. "I checked your appointment time; you have almost two and a half hours until you're needed. How about you take your girls shopping?"

Taking one of 'his girls' shopping was his own personal nightmare; taking both would be self-inflicted torture.

But they were in a new city, the sun was shining and he did have time to kill.

"Why not?"

**AN - Please review :)**


	3. Withdrawal

**AN **- This is where things start to get moving. There was a lot I needed to include, such as the introduction of a couple of OCs and some scenes ended up getting cut, but hopefully the pacing is alright. A few of you mentioned the shopping trip and I actually feel quite bad that I haven't written it here ;_;. But don't fear, it may very well show up in a future chapter. There may be some mistakes in the chapter - when I uploaded it, the word count was about ten less than it was previously. Some words may have got deleted; I hope not, but it's possible.  
I don't have anything more to say this time except Happy Easter!  
A huge thank you again to everyone who reviewed: _Ultimolu, namine redfield, .-SnipingWolf, Kenshin13, tek, Sparkle Valentine, Rock Lees Lotus, Chaed, KT324, Ninja-Gnome, xwittychickx, xSummonerYunax _and _Ivilith_. Keep them coming! I truly love hearing from you all ^_^.

* * *

**Blindside**

**_Chapter Two - _**_Withdrawal_

_-+-_

_"What is Man? A Miserable little pile of secrets"  
~Andre Malraux~_

_-+-_

**_August 14, 2003. 9:17am. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas._**

Waiting was all anyone ever seemed to do round these parts. Wait for a supervisor to show for a meeting, wait for a room to be prepped...wait for the doctor to trawl through the details of each individual's medical exam.

Chris was third on the list, and what had apparently only been a seventeen minute wait had drawn out for what seemed like half an eternity. The reasoning for his urgency eluded him; did he truly believe that he had failed? It was preposterous. Though he enjoyed the occasional beer, a frequent cigarette or two and was sometimes perhaps a little too partial to fast food, he had never been in better shape. He worked out whenever possible, and jogged with Jill almost every morning. He could not guarantee that his lungs were in the healthiest condition, but the rest of his body was well above par.

"Christopher Redfield?"

"See," Jill whispered. "I said you'd be next, didn't I?"

He smiled awkwardly before rising to his feet and trudging towards the open door, exhaling every step of the way. Jill's assurances that he had absolutely nothing to worry about did nothing to calm his nerves; what if he failed? What would happen next?

"Please, take a seat," the doctor urged. "This will only take a moment."

Chris obliged, but kept his eyes on the doctor as he perused a battered filing cabinet to his left, muttering 'Redfield' repeatedly beneath his breath.

"Ah yes," he announced at last. "Here we are. Christopher Redfield; date of birth June seventeenth, nineteen-seventy-three?"

He confirmed that these details were correct with a sarcastic tone to his voice; how many other Chris Redfields were there in the BSAA's employ?

"That's great," the annoyingly cheerful man announced with a wide grin as he found the seat opposite Chris. "I'll keep this short; you passed. However, there were concerns regarding the results of your physical."

He was shocked, to say the least, even took a moment to glance down at his body to ensure that he had not developed a beer belly since he had last caught his reflection

"My fitness was an issue?" he asked.

"Oh no, you came out top on almost everything, Mr. Redfield," the doctor explained, eyes hard as they drilled the importance of the forthcoming information into his mind. "However, your lung capacity was found to be a little lower than would be expected for a man of your age and height. I believe you are a heavy smoker?"

"Well, I wouldn't say heavy..."

These days he did not find occasion to smoke, and he had begun to smoke only when he felt the need to as opposed to his usual habit of lighting up whenever he felt like it - which was, more often than not, quite regularly. He had assumed that the fewer cigarettes he smoked, the less harm would be dealt to his body. Evidently, this was not the case.

"Christopher, I'll level with you," the doctor sighed. "Smoking is a bad habit, period. But in a line of work such as yours, fitness is of the utmost importance and you can't afford to find yourself at a disadvantage for any reason. Aside from long-term risks such as cancer and cardiovascular disease, you are putting yourself at risk for cardiac arrest, loss of eyesight, even impotence. As a man of thirty, I assume you will be thinking about starting a family soon? If you continue to smoke, you will be looking at the possibility of fertility problems. It all adds up."

Despite advice from friends and professionals, no one had ever laid it out like this before. It was harrowing to hear words such as 'cancer' and 'impotence' spoken seriously with his name in mind. He had always faced smoking with the mentality of 'if it happens, it happens'. But now... His performance was at stake, too. He could not afford to be a weak soldier; his life was not the only one that depended on that fact.

"Think about it," the doctor requested, sliding a brown paper envelope across the table. Chris interpreted this as a signal that his time was up, and he took the envelope as he exited the small, stuffy office, shock seared into his thoughts.

The manila envelope contained all that the doctor had warned him of; implications of his continued smoking and a more detailed report of every test that had returned within normal limits.

Strange though it seemed to him in that moment, the prospect of infertility worried him more than the thought of a heart attack. Family was never far from his mind and despite the twists and turns that his life had taken, the desire to one day have a family of his own had not faded nor altered. The last five years had all but lain waste to these plans...but then Jill had returned his love. It was strange how one kiss could bring normality to a chaotic world.

"Can I say 'I told you so?'" Jill's disembodied voice asked.

He turned suddenly, failing to notice her approach or the long moments she had spent reading the print-out at his side.

"Don't start," he groaned. "I know this is bad, but...I've tried to quit before, Jill, and it was hell."

Her eyebrows furrowed as her features twisted into a frown and she rested fingers tenderly on his bicep.

"It could be different this time," she told him. "I'll help you, we can do this together. You know how much I hate you smoking."

And that was it, that was all he needed to hear; it suddenly became less about him and more about her and her often misguided feelings. He knew the sight of worry in her eyes far too well, and he knew that she feared for his health. If she wanted him to quit, then he would.

"Alright," he agreed. "But I'm doing this for you, not for some balding moron with a PhD."

Jill chuckled before pressing her lips to his cheek in a congratulatory manner.

"How about you do this one for yourself?" she asked, and he had to admit that her words had sense. His previous attempts to quit were always for the benefit of those around him; perhaps this was why he had always failed, because deep down he had not wanted to lay aside his weakness?

"But if I do it for you, you lose the right to complain about my temper until I'm through withdrawal," he teased.

"Oh no," she protested. "It's nicotine patches up the wazoo for you."

"I'm sure they don't go there, Jill."

"Jill Valentine?"

She huffed at the sound of her name, far too embroiled in the teasing match that had broken out in the sterile waiting room.

"Hold that thought," she groaned and swiftly left his side, the drab grey walls and remaining recruits all that kept him company. Yet he found that a smile still lingered. It was not his usual smile, not the cocky grin that others had learned to roll their eyes at. No, it was a different smile, one that only she could bring to his lips.

He carelessly folded the paper in half and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans, throwing the crumpled envelope into a nearby waste casket. Perhaps for the sake of irony, he found his fingers itching to hold a cigarette. But he dared not satisfy his cravings one final time and swore an oath to himself that he would destroy the remainder of the packet he had left in their hotel room.

A solitary thought drifted to the surface of his mind and he entertained it for but a brief moment. Would they still be living out of hotels if the BSAA became officially sanctioned?

He laughed off the thought; he knew perfectly well that the GPC were looking into purchasing several abandoned army barracks, making for uncomfortable yet suitable accommodation.

'I suppose we should make the most of luxury while we can,' he sighed inwardly.

If the BSAA were sanctioned, just how many days would they spend away from home? Where would the North American headquarters be situated? The three most likely possibilities seemed to be Manhattan, Washington D.C. and Arlington. The latter two options were ideal in terms of his current residence, and though the third appealed to him with the distance that would be closed between himself and family members, it would mean uprooting and hauling his belongings a few states over - and likely instigate another argument over living arrangements with Jill. Aside from that, it would take him away from Barry and Rebecca, and they were two friends he did not want to leave behind.

Everything had changed after Umbrella's fall. Though he and Jill had known that they would continue the fight until Wesker and Spencer were brought to justice, the others had been less enthusiastic. Five years of running and hiding had taken their toll, and when it came down to the details, the others had not experienced Wesker as the everlong partners had. Leon's commitment to the government had taken him away, as had Claire's desire to take a peacefully preventative approach to bioterrorism. He had been so sure that Barry would join in the formation of the BSAA, but alas, their old friend had expressed his wish to make up for lost time with his family, and to open a gun shop as Robert Kendo had suggested he do many years ago.

Chris did not argue the matter; he understood Barry's position. Had he children of his own, he knew that he would likely have made a similar decision. Barry knew that he would carry on the search and trusted that they would one day avenge the deaths of their friends.

Rebecca, on the other hand, had taken the knowledge she had gained during time spent assisting the various doctors and medical researchers that their organisation had picked up along the way, and had enrolled in college before Umbrella's case had closed. He did not know what it was that she had chosen to study, but knew that she was currently undergoing an internship at a local hospital and was putting shame to her fellow interns.

He envied the paths they had followed but knew that he could not just turn his back and walk away when there was still work to be done. He was a soldier, through and through, as was Jill. There was no other path that lay before them, only the same dark road that lead inevitably into an uncertain future. He had planned to one day reduce his workload, settle down and begin the life he longed to make for himself. But when the time came would he know how to stop? Or would he one day open his eyes and realise that he was days away from retiring, the family he had longed for all his life suddenly an impossibility?

'Where is she?' he asked himself, shaking away these disturbing thoughts. Fifteen minutes had already passed, and though several recruits had entered the second examination room, Jill was yet to emerge.

It was unnatural of him to worry about her, especially when she had proven many times in the past that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. He had faith that whatever situation she found herself in, she would be able to handle it with minimal assistance.

The door opened, and finally she returned to the emptying waiting room. Her envelope was tucked beneath her arm, no interest shown towards the record of her examination. This was the first oddity that he noticed. The second was a balled-up handkerchief she attempted to push stealthily up her sleeve, sniffing quietly as she allowed hair to fall onto her face.

"Jill?"

She jumped a little, obviously not expecting him to have waited for her. She did not reply, but when her eyes clumsily found his he knew in an instant that something was not right. Remnants of moisture clung to her lashes, and the smile that she offered did not quite reach her eyes.

"Jill, what happened?" he asked. Apparently now was a good time to start worrying.

"I passed," she revealed, though the corner of her lips twitched downwards. Was she not happy with this news?

He reached out, but she brushed past without as much as a second glance. No explanation, no search for comfort.

In the end, he was left only with his confused thoughts and a lingering fear that he could not shake off.

* * *

**_August 14, 2003. 1:24pm._**

As she bounded down the hallway, Jill swore to herself that she would make more of an effort to memorise the layout of the temporary base. If she was late for another meeting she was sure she would face disciplinary action.

'You practically own this unit,' she reminded herself. 'You could turn up half an hour late, butt naked and they wouldn't say a damn thing.'

On this occasion she was able to present an excuse for her possibly tardiness, though somehow she did not think "I have spent the last three hours crying my eyes out" would be acceptable. The tears were unwarranted and extremely inconvenient, but she had been unable to stem the flow and was forced to resort to locking herself in the women's bathroom until she was in a presentable state. She had never before cowered in a toilet cubicle; not even during her high school years. It sickened her to know that she had been reduced to such a clichéd state of desperation.

Chris had attempted to call her after her abrupt exit, and initial ignorance turned to guilt when she discovered fifteen text messages and seven voicemail calls on her cell phone. Why did she avoid him? Even she did not know. Part of her scolded her childish actions but her heart beat against the tide of reasoning and its tune played as a dirge.

'You're being ridiculous,' she told herself. 'He's your boyfriend; it's his job to comfort you. Why face this alone?'

'He wouldn't understand...'

Once again, pain fluttered in her chest. Because that was the truth of the matter; he would not understand. There were many things that had gone unspoken in their short relationship and those that she knew he kept hidden meant that this was a deal breaker. There was no coming clean, no sharing of burdens. It was selfish, but she loved him and she was not sure that she could take such a destructive blow when her heart and mind were still healing from old wounds.

'Maybe it would be for the best?'

She chased this terrible thought away. No, she would not feel sorry for herself. She had cried, she had protested and she had tried to reason...now that it was all out of her system, she could hold her head up high and carry on with the task at hand.

But she felt it; the hole that had been carved into her being. Something was missing, never to be replaced. It was a part of her she had never expected to miss; a part of her that she had taken for granted and assumed would always be there. Though she tried and tried to convince herself that her enamoured heart had blown everything out of proportion, she knew that she was wrong. It wasn't something that could be put right or glossed over. It wasn't _okay_, no matter how she twisted it.

'He would leave you if he knew.'

It was a thought she could find no argument for. If he did not leave her today, it would be tomorrow, or some unforeseen date in the future. Because no matter how hard they tried to ignore it, it would always be there, widening the gap between them until he was in someone else's arms.

She drew a shallow breath, but it caught in her throat and she coughed, each particle of expelled air cutting her throat on the journey. Her steps were cut short and she fought against the hand that longed to grip a nearby doorframe. If she steadied herself, she admitted to weakness and if she admitted to weakness...well then it would all come forth; twenty-eight years' worth of troubles.

"Jill Valentine?"

She was grateful for the voice that called her name, and she rubbed at her eyes as she turned.

"It _is_ you!" the stranger exclaimed, her voice suddenly adopting the quality of a star struck groupie. "I heard they signed you for this mission but I didn't believe a- I'm sorry, Lt. Hillary Jones, US Navy; just transferred."

The girl looked to be roughly the same age as she, hair a light shade of brown, gentle blue eyes wide with eagerness and awestruck glee. Jill had yet to meet the other members of the team, knowing only that most had recently been recruited, several having transferred from other branches of the armed forces. She had briefly perused personnel files but had not paid much attention to detail.

"It's...nice to meet you," she laughed, offering a hand that was then shook vigorously.

"I'm sorry," Hillary blushed, a faded southern accent colouring her words. "I'm not usually this excitable, but it is an honour, Miss Valentine."

Her words confused the teary-eyed woman, but she smiled all the same and placed a warm hand on her shoulder as they continued towards the venue they were both doubtlessly set to find several minutes late.

"Thank you," Jill spoke awkwardly. "Can't say I understand your reasoning, but I appreciate it."

"What is there not to understand?" Hillary laughed. "You're the only woman I know of to have trained with the Delta Force, you were hired to the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. division, single-handedly brought down Umbrella's most relentless bio-weapon and led the infiltration that secured Umbrella's downfall! I actually applied for your position in S.T.A.R.S. but the Captain turned me down; he was a hard man to please, must have seen something special in you."

Her enthusiastic words stung but Jill refused to let it show. Vengeful hatred was not a pleasant emotion to display.

"Oh hell, I'm sorry," Hillary gasped. Her apology was tearfully genuine, and those four simple words were enough for a strong wave of affection to surge within Jill's chest. "No, really. Sometimes you forget, you know. I...I actually lost a few good friends in Raccoon. Guess you could say that's why I joined the BSAA. Don't want anyone else to ever have to go through that kind of pain."

"Yeah..." Jill found it difficult to convey just how deeply she understood what Hillary was trying to convey. Prevention: that was a main component in her decision to continue the fight and eventually found the BSAA; if she could save just one person from feeling the agony of losing a friend in such horrific circumstances, she would leave this world a happy woman.

She was sure to acquire two nearby chairs when they finally entered the meeting, though felt tremors of discomfort when she realised that the only spare seats in the room were two next to Chris.

"Where have you been?" he whispered when she took a seat at his side. "I've been trying to find you all morning!"

"I went for a jog," she lied. "Needed to clear my head, I'm fine."

She found that she could muster a smile that was significantly more genuine this time and an accompanying squeeze of the knee seemed to satisfy him temporarily. Although he seemed to relent, she knew that the conversation was far from over and sighed in resignation.

'You have to talk to him sometime,' her thoughts reminded her. She shot a sarcastic 'thank you' into the back of her mind and settled into the uncomfortable plastic chair.

Barely a few moments passed when Leon stepped into the room, ten manila folders balancing precariously on his arm. Of course, the first assignment was controlled not by the GPC, the UN or even the BSAA themselves, but rather by the government. They were not yet a fully-sanctioned military unit and so had no leader, no General to guide them. Though such positions had been offered both to herself and to the other members of the original eleven, she, Chris and several others had refused; they preferred the involvement of mid-range ranks and would not settle for an office job.

"Sorry I'm a little late," Leon excused, shaking off the last of his 'outside' personality. Jill could almost see his skin shed and a new, more authoritative shell form. "As you will all no doubt no by now, I am Agent Kennedy and I am the US government's representation on this assignment."

The lights dimmed, and a projector at the back of the room suddenly whirred into life.

"Thank you, Marshall," Leon acknowledged. "There are ten individuals in this room, each one emerging from a different role. I will tell you now, whether you are ex-Navy, ex-S.W.A.T. or even ex-day-care assistant, you are all on the same page. Forget your former rank, forget your training; today you start as equals and have just as much to prove as the person sitting next to you."

She picked up on a short, whispered chuckle from Chris's direction and cast him a warning glare. They had both never taken order from Leon, or even been subject to one of his infamous pep talks, but she knew that Chris would find standing below his less-qualified friend nothing short of hilarious.

"At this point in time, this meeting is a mere formality. Training will begin tomorrow morning - you are all expected to be on time and ready to go - and following initial assessment, you will all be divided into two teams; Alpha and Bravo."

Jill could almost smell the cold sweat that Leon had so far succeeded in disguising. He had no trouble with combat situations, but place him in any position of leadership and he all but crumbled. Chris was similar in this respect; although he was a skilled leader, he did not work well with planning and delivering speeches. Leon had always been somewhat of a lone wolf, preferring to work solo than as a member of a group. The current arrangement must have been killing him.

"The target is a facility three miles from the Mexican border," Leon explained as several slides appeared on the screen behind him. Each slide depicted a similar scene; clinical, grey walls, surrounded by a fenced perimeter. The facility appeared to be quite large, and from the construction she could tell that a lower level existed; perhaps several lower levels. "It is registered as a research laboratory, with a primary purpose of testing chemicals for the cosmetic industry. However, we have reason to believe that its true purpose is far more sinister in nature."

The slides changed again, a number of faces - some familiar - flashing before them.

"The individuals you see behind me are registered employees of this facility," he explained. "You may recognise some; they are all known former employees of the Umbrella Corporation. The files I will hand each of you at the end of this meeting detail the specifics, but it is largely suspected that this facility is not only being used in continued experimentation on the T-virus but is also a major link in a bio-weapons smuggling chain the government has been trying to break for the last two months."

Jill frowned. It was not like the government to shirk off such an integral task, especially when the receiving party was an inexperienced unit such as the BSAA.

"Your mission will be to infiltrate this facility, arrest the individuals concerned and retrieve all research data," Leon continued. "To put it simply, you will be closing down the facility. Security will be present and we have no idea what will be found inside, so extreme caution is advised."

Leon's pacing became hypnotic, and Jill found that her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She had suspected that the first assignment would be as simple as an explorative infiltration. In her heart she had hoped for something more, but knew that it was unlikely.

"This mission is of high importance because Intel has led us to believe that the leader of the smuggling ring we have so far failed to bring to justice will be visiting the facility at the time of the raid," he explained. "Not much is known about the leader, but it is believed that he has strong connections to the Raccoon City incident, and to the late Sergei Vladimir. Unconfirmed Intel suggests that he may also be connected to terrorist leader Albert Wesker, whose apprehension is of the highest priority."

Suddenly, Jill's attention was focused solely on the words he spoke. A sudden shift in the chair to her right signalled that Chris had taken his words as seriously as she. It was the first sliver of news they had received of Wesker since the Caucasus shutdown; the hope they had been searching for.

"Apprehending this man comes at the cost of any other task," Leon stressed, offering no more information on their former captain or his whereabouts.

Chris turned, his expression mirroring the desperate hope she could feel burned into her own features. Wesker's capture was the key to their freedom; if interrogating this so-called 'leader' brought them but a half-step closer to discovering his location then it would be an end that justified questionable means.

She knew that Chris wanted this as much as she, that his interest in the mission had suddenly peaked.

One thing was for sure; things were about to get interesting.

* * *

**_August 14, 2003. 1:30pm. Location unknown._**

The day was not yet over, but already the lab had seen a thorough-clean, work surfaces glistening artificially. The specimens curled in their cages, having long since resigned themselves to the dwindling prospect of escape. Rats, mice, rabbits, frogs...even fish that swam in repetitive circles around an oversized tank, several fewer in number than earlier that day.

"In summation," Dr. Norton spoke into his Dictaphone as he reached the end of the written report he had been perusing, hoping that it would satisfy his superiors enough to secure temporary leave. "Subjects F through K displayed reduced motor functioning up to thirty minutes before complete transformation. The primary factors in length of incubation can be confirmed as onset of necrosis, age of subject, BMI, intelligence, genetic structure and also strength of mind. Subjects that appeared 'resigned' to their fate - measured by the level of challenge they presented - succumbed an average of two hours before the other members of their cohort. Infection via exchange of fluids - such as biting - appears to encourage a faster transformation, with multiple lesions and associated blood loss and unconsciousness significantly reducing the incubation period."

A droplet of sweat trickled down his brow, falling into his eyes before he hastily wiped it away.

"However, I am still unsure why this is happening; apoptosis appears to be accelerated in certain subjects with no reasonable explanation," he continued. "The virus...could act randomly; there may be no order at all to...to..."

He swore and slammed the Dictaphone against the sterile bench top. There was no way he could hand in this report. He was beginning to wonder why he was still on this case; every different test he ran on the T-virus returned with inconclusive results. They had wanted to know the reason for differing incubation times - where the bigwigs had referred to 'incubation' as the time before so-called transformation or reanimation - but try as he might he could not discern any genetic or chemical reason with sufficient supporting evidence. There were theories and results that appeared promising, but not the level of high supporting evidence the higher-ups would accept.

Were they soon to lose their patience with him?

"Mike," called the watchman from the doorway, his visage obscured by the water of the generous tank that partially extended into the centre of the lab.

"Damn, Martin," Mike hissed. "Don't creep up on me like that.

"Sorry," the watchman chuckled. "You got time to spare? We need help prepping the warehouse. Looks like they're bringing a bigger shipment than we're getting rid of."

Mike eyed him suspiciously. There was no reason why any shipments should be delivered to the facility; in terms of the production line that they were all deeply embroiled in, the facility that currently housed them was close to the beginning. They specialised in viral research, not in weapon production.

"Trust me; whatever you're thinking, we've all thought it ourselves," Martin sighed. "Come on."

He was followed closely, Mike's confusion growing with every step they took. The arrival of specimens meant that the base would be likely be under strict security conditions; leaving would be extremely difficult.

"I was hoping to get a few days off soon," he sighed. "Guess the wife will be disappointed again."

Too many hours were spent in the confined facility, and not enough with his family. With one child and another on the way he knew where his priorities lay and they most certainly were not amongst his colleagues. After all, this job had been a favour...

"Play your cards right and you could walk out of this with a promotion," Martin reminded him, clapping a strong hand on his shoulder. "I have no idea who this Major guy is, but I've heard he's got pull where it counts."

It was then that purpose returned to Mike's mind. He was here for a reason, and he owed it to his friends and to his family to keep his head in the game and his mind on the job.

"You have to know something," he pried. "Everyone knows _something_. It sometimes feels like I'm being kept in the dark around here."

"Well...I heard he's European," Martin offered, as useless as this snippet of information was. "Other than that, we're all equally in the dark."

Again, suspicion fell. He had never met the 'Major', did not even know his name, but already too many questions lingered around his identity. He must be important, not only to the facility but to every member of the post-Umbrella movement.

Martin offered no more, and Mike chose not to ask. He needed those few days of leave, just as he needed to prove to the others that he could be trusted. He knew now that his life depended on it.

* * *

**_August 17, 2003. 10:00am. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas._**

Three days. Was that all it had been? Three days without a single smoke, three days living in what he became more and more convinced was his own personal hell.

Leon was hardly making an effort to reduce the stress that now weighed upon his shoulders. In fact, in recent days Chris was sure that he could see a sloppy read target painted onto the younger man's forehead.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, anger fuelled by Leon's lack of response to his rage. At the very least, the man should have been terrified. Hell, he himself was not entirely sure what he planned to do. He could very well have taken his head clean off; it sure felt like a perfectly reasonable course of action.

"It wasn't my decision to make, Chris," Leon replied calmly. He remained bent over the table between them, scrutinising the blueprints that had been delivered earlier that day.

Once again, he seemed thoroughly uninterested in Chris's rant. Truth be told, he was used to the verbal abuse by now.

"We're partners," Chris fumed. "You don't split partners up, that's the whole fucking point of a partnership!"

Hard though it may be to believe, his anger had subsided greatly from the moment the teams had been finalised; Jill and Leon leading Alpha, Chris and a new recruit leading Bravo. Relegating him to Bravo had been the first mistake, separating him from Jill had been the second.

"You picked a hell of a time to quit smoking, you know that?" Leon muttered. "Have you been paying any attention at all to what we've been going through?"

Chris was silent. Because he had truly not been able to concentrate on anything in recent days. All he was sure of was his hatred towards every item of furniture that was in his way, every door that remained closed when he needed it to be open, every face that smiled as it passed him by, every...

Maybe the patches weren't working?

He knew that the government and several military officials were overseeing the upcoming mission, that control would not turn to the BSAA until they were given the all clear. When- _If_ that came to be, the power would effectively be with the original eleven until suitable personnel were recruited. Chris had no problem with following orders - in fact, he had _chosen_ to follow rather than to lead - but he simply could not stand it when orders that made absolutely no sense at all were handed down.

"It will be impossible to break through the outer perimeter without triggering the basic security systems," Leon explained. "Jill herself agreed that there was no possible way to gain access to the facility without triggering a silent alarm at the point of entry. We need one team to arrest staff, and a two-man cell - namely, you and Jill - to head deeper into the facility and retrieve research data and shut down the higher level biomedical labs."

Chris followed Leon's finger as he pointed to the centre of the blueprints.

"As you can see, and as I have already explained, the facility is built on several levels, three of which are essentially basement levels," he continued, careful to convey his irritation at having to repeat himself. "We are not naive enough to believe that there won't be security features present inside the facility; your experience of similar Umbrella-owned facilities should give you a sense of what to expect."

Chris grimaced. Booby-traps, guard dogs, armed personnel...bio-weapons. Umbrella had a tendency to release every last one of their test subjects if a break-in occurred, obviously expecting to lose but intent on taking down most of the infiltration team with them. It made sense to expect nothing less from their remains.

"We believe that we have pinned down the motion detection software they have installed. Basically, it assigns a signal to each breach and this signal tracks the breach as it moves through the compound. If our two-man cell entered separately from the main group, their presence would be detected upon entry and followed. So, two teams will enter the facility here and here; you on one team, Jill on the other. Due to the size of the groups a one-man detachment should not register on their system, so when the groups reach the checkpoints here and here, you and Jill will detach from your respective groups and will rendezvous here, while Alpha and Bravo merge and begin a sweep of the remainder of the labs. You and Jill will then descend to the lower levels and retrieve the research data on levels B2 and B3. Any of this ringing a bell?"

If his words were intended to mock his much older and far stronger colleague, it was a daring move. Rather than retort with an angry outburst, Chris placed a further step between himself and Leon and huffed in defeat he dared not admit vocally.

Withdrawal had worn him down a lot quicker than he had anticipated. Or had it been Jill? Her silence grated on nerves he never knew he had. Smiles, kisses, a simple stroke of his hair; her actions screamed love, but her demeanour contradicted all that her lips told him. Her heart may have been with him, but her mind had been elsewhere ever since she had entered that damn doctor's office. He had tried not to probe - after all, it was a personal matter. But respect could only take him so far; he worried for her, and that worry had slowly begun to turn to fear. But fear of what? Of a ticking medical time bomb? No, if it was serious they would never have passed her. Then what was it? Was he afraid that he would lose her?

He did not want to even contemplate this option.

"I know you're worried about this mission," Leon sighed, lowering his voice to a more friendly tone. "We all are. But it is _your_ mission, Chris; _you_ are in charge. I may have the authority to assume command whenever I see fit but I trust you and I honestly don't believe that the need for me to exert that power will arise."

Somehow, this seemed unfair. He fought, he pushed, he insulted, and Leon returns his anger with a compliment? It was against every unwritten rule of decency.

Chris could not help but feel placated by this reassurance. It was truly not the best time to allow himself to get riled up; he had more than enough planning and preparation to do.

"I can handle this," Leon assured him. "Go get some fresh air, it might help."

Chris highly doubted this; there were many smokers on the base and the instant he stepped outside he would walk straight into a cloud of smoke that would crush his current success in an instant of time too short to measure.

But he accepted Leon's proposal without argument; the less time spent in the presence of others, the better.

* * *

**_August 17, 2003. 9:15pm. El Paso, Texas._**

It was perhaps pure luck that the building rented by the UN as a temporary headquarters for the BSAA was situated two doors down from a rather comfortable hotel. With minimal funding, they would otherwise have been confined to sleeping bags on the floor of whichever room was unoccupied that night.

Jill also welcomed the temporary break from the strain of preparation that a warm bath and freshly-made bed provided. As Chris's partner, she had seen a painful amount of preparatory paperwork find her in-tray and after twelve hours of slogging through every detail, with breaks only for a hastily-consumed sandwich and a single strenuous training exercise, she was happy to finally leave the base.

Soapy water drained from the tub as she slipped into her pyjamas. With an eight am start, there truly was no rest for the wicked. But she held on to her smile, the heavy scent of lavender lingering upon the air. She could have happily remained in the small bathroom all night, soaking in the humidity and relishing the refreshing comfort. But she knew better than to believe that she could.

As she left comfort behind and stepped into the harshly conditioned air of the bedroom she realised straight away that Chris had not yet returned. It was entirely possible that he was avoiding her, but she could not be sure. She would not have blamed him if he were. Somehow talking to him seemed so difficult these days. After her initial dismissal he had not pressed the matter of her medical, but she knew that it still played on his mind. A great deal of effort had doubtlessly been put into his restraint and this just made everything more difficult; he cared enough to cause himself discomfort that she could easily relieve.

'Relief?' she asked herself. Would her words truly cause him relief?

As though her thoughts summoned him to her side, the door opened, clicking shut a moment later as he raised his eyes to hers.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice unintentionally accusatory.

Why did she always feel the need to argue? Was it truly easier on them both than a little kindness would have been?

The look that he shot her almost broke her heart. It seemed that the energy had been drained from him, his mind close to snapping and his soul even closer to giving up.

"Please don't start," he begged, quieter than she would have expected from him. "I've had a really bad day, I don't need another argument."

Even his posture seemed unnatural, and the way that he dropped to the edge of the mattress made her doubt that the man who had entered was indeed the man who had left that morning.

The lack of nicotine did not help, she surmised. When stressed, Chris would always smoke his troubles away; now that was an impossibility.

A shaking hand rubbed at the back of his neck, brow furrowed as he attempted to shake the baggage he had carried from the base. It was a hopeless scene of a man so lost he may as well have been in a foreign country. Though she tried her best to maintain its shield, her heart bled and filled her with the desire to comfort him as she always had. Just an embrace, a kiss perhaps to show that though the world may be loading him to a breakdown, she was there and she cared.

'It would be hypocritical.'

But how? Their relationship had not changed, yet her mind seemed to be seeking to persuade her that it was failing. Perhaps it was the toll that lies took on love. She was holding on to something that would be better off dead, she knew that now. All that she wanted was for him to be happy, to have the best life that fate could offer him. But she could not give that to him, not anymore.

'But you still love him,' her heart reminded her questioning mind. 'Sometimes that is enough.' Was this one of those times?

She tentatively stepped towards him, confidence building as she clambered onto the bed and reached towards him. He welcomed her sudden appearance, arms sliding over hers desperately.

In his embrace, she could feel all that she knew she could never leave; he would not have held her so tightly if she meant any less than everything to him. It was as though she was all that he was sure of in that moment, and he did not want to leave any opportunity for her to slip away. As long as he held her like this, she could convince herself that she was doing the right thing and that if his arms continued to express love that words had so far failed to emulate then maybe, just maybe everything would be alright.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, to which he shook his head and pressed his lips gently to hers.

"Thank you," he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. For the briefest of moments, she caught the weary hopelessness that reflected within his eyes and suddenly she could not pull herself close enough to him.

Her lips found his and she could tell that this was what he had been waiting for. Her fingers lightly stroked his hair as they always did in moments so forlorn, and feeling began to warm in the pit of her stomach. She felt his need in a simple touch and opened her mouth to him; a silent invitation that he accepted gladly. Warmth crept up her thigh as his hand brushed along bare skin, fingertips sliding unintentionally beneath the hem of her shorts.

"Stop it," she told him, pulling away prematurely. She could find no explanation for her actions; she was more than willing to see the night through, eager even.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, apologetic without the need to speak the word.

She searched for an answer but could not for the life of her discern why she had disconnected herself from an admittedly pleasurable moment. The concerned quality of his voice only served to irritate her further; why was he not angry, or at the very least annoyed? With the sudden rush of diluted animosity, she physically pushed him away and jumped to her feet.

"It's always about sex to you!" she cried out.

He looked at her, unblinking, words visibly on the tip of his tongue. They both knew that her statement was far from true; she had initiated her fair share of intimate moments.

"Jill, I never-" he began, but cut himself off knowingly and jumped up to gently confront her. "Please talk to me; you really haven't been yourself lately."

And there it was, the anger she had been waiting for.

"You're smothering me, Chris," she growled, dodging his hands as they reached for her. Her mind told her that her words were true; it spewed toxic lies, turning her heart away from what it knew and what it screamed out in the hope that she would listen.

'Sex is dangerous,' her deceitful mind told her. 'Minutes of pleasure for a possible lifetime of pain? Sex spreads diseases, it ruins lives! What if he got you pregnant?'

The questions all but crippled her, and it seemed ironic that there was nowhere for her to go but into his arms. She did not want to feel this way; so lost, so confused and so out of place in the life that had previously made her ridiculously happy. But in his fearful hold she felt that happiness did still exist, despite what she had begun to convince herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You're not. You're- So much is happening right now; I don't really know where my head is at."

It was a feeling he could associate with and so she felt his body relax against hers, hold as soothing and gentle as always.

"Promise you'll talk to me if something is bothering you," he requested, secretively offering her the opportunity to open up. "Ever...please."

She looked into his eyes and achieved a half-smile.

"I promise," she assured him. Because she would. She would reveal all that she kept hidden...just not today. It was a situation she needed to analyse, to understand and to accept before she even thought about what she would say to him. But conversely, it was a situation she could not keep secret, one that concerned them both; sooner or later he would have to know.

In an attempt to silence any further requests, she returned her lips to their rightful place and found that he responded with unbridled enthusiasm. Her fingertips brushed against the stubble at his jaw; a new look, induced perhaps by stress and the choice of sleep over an extra five minutes in the bathroom on a morning. It was a look that she eagerly approved of, and hoped that he did not rectify any time soon.

"Hmm, hypocrite," he hummed when her hands began to wander down a familiar route. She found herself amused by the fact that he had caught on to her intentions before she was aware of them herself. He always had seemed to know her body better than her.

She crawled back onto the bed, casting him a 'come hither' look as she propped herself up onto her knees, attempting seduction but knowing that she had likely failed. Always one to follow orders, he joined a split second later, resuming the kiss with enough force to send them both crashing down onto the mattress. Limbs flailed and laughter echoed around the room as lips slipped, and somehow his nose found its way to her eye.

Not even the promise of what was to come could cease the vocalised hilarity, furthered when an attempt to unwind her legs resulted in an almost catastrophic blow to his groin region.

"Does anything ever go right for us?" she giggled, half-blinded while he continued to laugh into her collar bone.

He made as if to reply, moving so that he gazed into her eyes and suddenly she was lost. The intensity of his expression overwhelmed her senses, pulled her in with promises of love and many other wonderful things. She could almost _taste_ his emotion, and though she felt the need to turn away and to attempt to reclaim the sanity that had slipped away, she could not. Fingers stroked the hair that framed her face, but she could barely feel them, could barely feel the leg that had wrapped around hers, or the back of the remaining fingers that gently stroked her cheek. She had never been submissive, had never even pretended that she felt the need. She had never liked the idea of bowing to a man's will, of awarding the control to someone she knew had only themselves in mind. But Chris was a whole other story; she could not _help_ feeling submissive on occasion. She could insist that he was not getting his way, that she would hold the reins; but he knew exactly where to kiss, and the right amount of pressure to apply to which small stretch of skin. In some shameful way, she _enjoyed_ his enslaving touch.

"Do we have any condoms left?" she asked, bringing a pause to the moment before she lost her mind entirely.

The fingers stilled, curiosity fighting with lust for precedence.

"Did they take you off the pill?" he asked.

"No," she whispered, nervous though she hoped it did not show. "I just want you to use one...please."

He studied her expression carefully, and suddenly she felt vulnerable in a sense that was not so welcome. But he must have sensed that it held importance to her, because a thumb suddenly rubbed against her cheekbone and he smiled gently.

"Alright," he agreed and touched her nose gently with his. And then it came rushing back; that desperation, that desire.

There had been a clinic near her apartment in Raccoon, and every time she walked past its windows she would laugh at the healthcare posters it tiled on every available surface. 'She'll want you more if you wrap it up', was one of the more laughable slogans. She had never felt differently about a boyfriend because of his contraceptive habits and thought the mere idea that it would make a difference was ridiculous.

As usual, Chris succeeded in proving her wrong. He did not hide his dislike of the things, but every time she asked he would obey without protest or complaint.

These thoughts immediately fell from mind, his lips departing her own in search of warmer skin. Fingertips moved to caress her waist, hot breath igniting her skin as his kiss touched upon the cleft of her breast.

She had never been so sure that she needed him, and knew then that she was absurd to debate the future of the one almost-perfect element of her life.

But she had decisions to make, and she honestly did not know where they would leave them.

**AN - Please review :)**


	4. Right Before Your Eyes

**AN - **Whew, this is the longest chapter so far. I can't decide if it's a filler or not. There are events of some importance, a first look at a little C/L and a new character is briefly introduced (as well as the reintroduction of an old character), but I just can't make my mind up lol. I'm trying to keep Mike's role to a bare minimum right now. I don't want to concentrate too much on what's going on with him, hence the shortness of his sections.  
The mission is drawing closer now, so things should really start gaining momentum from here, mostly with Chris and Jill. I just want to say that I love hearing everyone's theories and it has been fun to read what you think, both in terms of Jill's secret and the 'Major', so don't be afraid to post what you think (though if you think it could be spoilery, PM me). I know that I say this every time, but updates may be a little slower for the next few chapters. Finals and all that.  
The chapter title actually comes from 'While You're Waiting' by Alkaline Trio. I was listening to a random playlist while I was working on this chapter and there was a verse in this song that I actually thought quite went with what I was writing at the time. Strangely enough, I thought 'right before your eyes' fits this chapter perfectly.

Thank you again to everyone who spared a minute or several to review :). _KT324, .-SnipingWolf, Ultimolu, namine redfield, Rock Lees Lotus, Ivilith, Sparkle Valentine, tek, Ninja-Gnome, Razial, LordZero, xSummonerYunax_ and _Kenshin13._ You all rock ;).

* * *

**Blindside**

**_Chapter Three - _**_Right Before Your Eyes_

_-+-_

_"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."  
~Oscar Wilde~_

_-+-_

**_August 19, 2003. 5:15pm. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas._**

Each day that brought the mission closer instilled a deeper sense of dread within each and every agent. It was the short notice that had unnerved them all; they had only been briefed a week before the official launch date, and now that the mission was little over seventy-two hours away. It was not unusual to be given such a short stretch of time in which to prepare, but they had been subjected to no prior training; they were barely a unit.

"Please tell me something that will calm these nerves," Hillary begged when she finally caught up to Jill.

"I wish I could," she sighed wearily. "I'm as much in the dark as you are these days."

"How so?"

Jill bit back her anger. It was not Hillary's fault; she could not help that the lines of communication between herself and Chris had somewhat stalled in the past few days. She had thought it accidental at first, an oversight on his part. After all, he worked hard and her mind had been lagging as of late. But then she would find that work had been completed before she was even aware of its existence, and orders had been passed that she should have had a part in deciding. As his partner, she had an equal amount of responsibility in the planning and preparation of this mission, yet she found that she was equal in terms of knowledge and power with Hillary and the other recruits.

It was insulting, to say the least.

"Crossed lines," she guessed, hiding the truth for the sake of morale.

"Isn't that always the case?" Hillary laughed humourlessly, sensing that it had something to do with her partner. "I actually wanted to ask a favour."

Jill slowed her pace, having failed to realise that Hillary had burst into a light jog in an effort to keep up with her.

She did not have time for favours, not now that Leon had been kind enough to offer her an avenue back into the job she had been assigned in the first place. Because luck had it that there were three in charge of preparation, and though Leon technically ranked below them both he was far busier these days than she was and appreciated the help. She was already late in returning borrowed files to him.

But she had begun to consider Hillary as a friend, and she had proven helpful in ways she was not obliged to; the least that she could do was grant her one favour.

"Go on," she urged.

"It's Chris," Hillary moaned. "I work out a lot; it's part hobby, part obsession. I take it gentle, but I like to hit the gym for at least an hour a day."

Jill nodded, wondering where her speech would lead but part of her knowing already.

"Every time I have been at the weights over the last few days, he's in there and I can tell he's been there for a while," she continued. "Normally, I wouldn't think twice 'bout this, but the other day I left my bag in the locker room and when I passed through the gym a few hours later, he was still there. He pushes himself hard during training, and I'm beginning to worry that he's pushing himself _too_ hard. At this rate, he's going to wipe himself out before we even leave the base."

Though Jill told herself not to worry, she could not help it. Fitness appeared to be his own way of working through withdrawal and the extra stress he had no doubt subjected himself to when he began to shun her assistance.

"As his girlfriend, you probably have more leverage with him than we do," Hillary pointed out. "Could you perhaps talk to him, ask him to take it easy?"

Jill knew that she could, but did not believe that it would do any good. Whatever she asked, he seemed to do the opposite. It was the aftermath of an argument that should have blown over already. But somehow she had managed to cling to the animosity and they had yet to set foot back onto dry land.

"Sure," she agreed, realising that the favour acted as an excuse to set him down and begin a meaningful conversation.

'You need an excuse to talk to your boyfriend?'

"Oh, and I need to get this to Leon," Hillary remembered suddenly, handing over a small silver key. "How's that going, by the way?"

Hillary had strangely been the only person on base with whom Jill had thought to share her irritation. It had not been planned, more of a sudden rant she lacked the ability to hold back, but she felt humbled with how easy the young former lieutenant had been to confide in. It was not enough to uproot more painful secrets, but it was nice to have a confidant on the outside of the immediate blasting zone. In all actuality, it was Hillary who had suggested the idea of approaching Leon for help rather than waiting for Chris to stop blocking her out.

"Great, actually," she admitted with a smile. "He's a lot easier to work with than I expected; it's like we're on the same level. Chris and I would have argued relentlessly by now."

"Not too harsh on the eyes, either."

"Watch it," Jill warned, but found that a smile returned with this thought.

"I'll take that as a sign of agreement," Hillary chuckled. "Window shopping, Jill. You can admire the packaging, you just don't sample it."

Jill thought about this. Falling in love had changed her perspective on relationships completely. She knew that it would be naïve of her to believe that she was the only woman in the world Chris found attractive, and likewise she did not pretend that he was the only good-looking man on the face of the planet. It was love that made all the difference. These other men simply did not appeal to her; she was in love with Chris, and with what they had. In the past she had been approached when off the market and sure, she had flirted back and on occasion cursed her taken status. But now she simple had no interest in any other man, no matter how attractive he may have been; she knew that she had something that was simply not worth risking.

Leon was attractive, and was often flirtatious without intent. He cared about the same things she did, agreed with her when Chris would argue, and kept a level head even in the most dire of situations. The extended time she had spent at his side over the previous days had once again brought to light how good a friend he was. Sometimes, their friendship reminded her of what she had once shared with Chris, of what he now seemed to block for reasons she could not fathom.

"But..." Hillary trailed, bringing them both to a standstill near to the door through which Jill must depart. She glanced into the open room, watching an unperturbed Leon hammer away at the keyboard of a smooth black laptop. "He's not Chris, is he?"

She laughed quietly as Jill shoved her playfully away from the open door.

"It's alright," Hillary laughed. "He's...not my type."

"Well, Leon's single, I could put in a good word," Jill offered slyly. She knew that getting out and having fun was just what her increasingly stressed friend needed. If he was still in denial about his feelings for a particular woman, he may as well try to leave his baggage at the door and have a good time while he waited for his unusually slow brain to catch up with his heart.

'For all the good that did you and Chris,' she reminded herself.

"Nah," Hillary refused before turning to leave. "He's not my type."

A wink effectively ended the conversation and Jill watched with a smile as she disappeared in the direction of the exit. Sometimes, she really did not understand that girl.

Leon barely looked up from his laptop as she strolled over to where he sat.

"Five minutes?" he chuckled. "You've been gone fifteen."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder to observe his 'work'. "C-Red79?"

He quickly closed the chat window and pressed the lid of his laptop down. She could almost see a blush rise to his cheeks as she lifted herself onto the desk beside his equipment and placed the silver key upon the laptop.

"Cute," she commented, unable to hide a smile or a laugh.

"Knock it off," he demanded awkwardly. "I haven't seen her in months; we're just catching up."

"Catching up like you have been the past four days over lunch?" she teased. "And at breakfast? The hotel bar?"

Leon leaned back in his chair, not a single sign of amusement upon his features.

"Jealous?" he asked.

Suddenly, neither party was amused.

"Come on," he pushed through laughter when she did not respond. "I've spent more time with you than I have with her since she arrived. In fact, I'd wager you've spent more time with me than you have with Chris. Am I right?"

Jill wished dearly that she had not started this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Chris had also recognised the lack of time that they had to simply be a couple. He had picked up on enough to push him into vowing to set time aside to talk and to simply enjoy one another's company. She had thought their problems to be private, secret even. How wrong she was.

"What's going on, Jill?" he asked, voice now soft and caring.

Deep down she wondered why he should care. Contact with Leon had been sporadic at best ever since he had chosen to dive head-first into whatever responsibilities the government had assigned him. She knew that he was a good friend; trustworthy and perhaps the easiest to talk to. Yet she found it difficult to open up as she did with her other friends because of the intermittent opportunities they were awarded to just be friends.

"I know something has happened between the two of you," he revealed. "Chris hates prep more than I do, and suddenly he's taking on your jobs? And I know you never would have sought me out if there was no rift."

Jill grimaced, realising that there was quite possibly no way out of this. If she walked away now, the question would present itself the next time they met, and these days they spent the vast majority of the working day with one another.

"We're just going through a difficult time," she answered with the hope that he would drop the matter.

"You both are?" he asked. "Or you are?"

She pushed herself down from the desk and turned so that he could not see the surprise that rose to her eyes. Had it been so obvious?

"I know about the medical, Jill," he told her, and suddenly she felt the urge to vomit. If Leon knew, then what was to say that Chris did not? Was that why he had been isolating her? Did he believe that she was not fit to carry out the work she had been assigned?

Her heart told her that she was wrong; if he knew, he would not be so cold. He would never leave her side, would be there every moment she felt tears fight for freedom.

Or would he?

"Chris told me," Leon explained when he was met with only silence, and she immediately came to realise her misunderstanding; he did not know the details. "I understand that it's a personal issue, and you have every right to keep it to yourself. But if it's having this much of an effect on your relationship, you're obviously having difficulty coming to terms with whatever was said. Opening up could help. He is so in love with you, Jill; he'll help, no matter what it takes."

Despite the steely quality of his voice, she felt the tenderness of his words and found herself considering his point. Though she expected him to turn tail and run, she _knew_ that Chris would be there for her. After all, he loved her. Had their situations been reversed, she knew that she would give her everything just to comfort him.

But it was not help that she needed from him...it was understanding.

"Do you even know what they said?" she asked. It was the detail that mattered, that put her on a knife's edge.

Leon shook his head, not once allowing his expression to falter.

"Do you see these scars?" he asked, holding out his right arm to display two small, circular scars roughly an inch apart on the forearm, near his elbow. She would not have noticed had he not pointed them out. "I was on an assignment in South America last year. I wasn't in the country for long, and I was given a clean bill of health when I returned. Savaged by mosquitoes, though...they stick to me like flies to shit."

Jill crossed her arms across her chest, unsure of where exactly this conversation was going.

"I had several bites on my arms," he continued. "They itched like hell and two in particular seemed to be steadily growing worse. I woke up one morning and they were...oozing, the stuff was all over my sheets. So, I got it checked out and the doctor told me the bites were infected, gave me some antibiotics, wrapped my arm up and told me to wait it out."

He frowned at the small, circular scars and surreptitiously scratched the surrounding skin, perhaps suffering phantom itches from an infection that obviously disturbed him to this day.

"They itched like hell and damn they hurt," he told her. "The antibiotics weren't working and I was in so much pain one night I ripped the bandage clean off. Can't say I was expecting to see something bulbous wiggle beneath my skin."

Jill raised a hand to her mouth, repulsed by the mere description.

"Yeah," Leon laughed. "That was my reaction. I was staying with family at the time and my cousin recognised what it was, said his friend had returned from Central America with exactly the same problem. Turned out a pair of botfly larvae had burrowed into my skin. Which meant that taking antibiotics was actually making things worse. Well hell, I didn't want to wait to return to base and have the medic fish them out; my cousin had done it before, I made him do it again. It was pretty much a case of coating the holes in Vaseline, waiting for them to surface for air and plucking them out with tweezers. But they have these...claws that they dig into your flesh and...well, they didn't exactly _want_ to come out, did they? They weren't even small, they were....fat. Like-"

He looked up to Jill and stopped when he gauged her reaction.

"Sorry," he apologised. "I usually only tell this story in a bragging sense. But my point is...I had two ugly ass worms feeding off my arm for God knows how long. Whatever they told you, it can't possibly be as bad - or as embarrassing - as that."

Though she agreed, she bit her tongue when a retort surfaced. She had sat through her fair share of horrific 'insect attack' programs, and had prayed on many occasions that she would never be so unlucky as to play host to such vermin. Yet in a way, she had played host to far worse. The pain from the T-virus infection had not set in until after Carlos had left her side, but when it had she began to wish that he had not taken her weapon as a 'precaution'. But it was the preceding effects that had left her to suffer nightmares even to this day. The smell had come first: the overwhelming scent of something long since dead. She had known it was her own wound, the scent of flesh decaying, but could not find the stomach to peel back the bandage that Carlos had wrapped tightly around it and observe the damage.

Soon, the hunger set in, powerful and desperate. She had reached for the candy bars that had been left beside her on the altar, and had regurgitated them a moment later. The taste was nothing she had experienced; how could chocolate taste so...acrid? It was then that she realised the smell that lingered in the air had changed, had evolved into something sweet and aromatic. It took every ounce of strength within her to not raise a wounded arm to her mouth and to taste the blood that trickled from a recent, self-inflicted wound. Initially, she had been scratching the flesh from her bones...now she longed to feast upon it, so overwhelming was the sense of starvation.

She was unsure if those moments had been a simple hallucination; after all, she had suffered through so many that seemed real, she remained disoriented for a short while after the cure had been delivered. Having believed that necrosis had set in to the painful wound on her shoulder, she was surprised to see that when she redressed it, healing seemed to be progressing at a natural rate. Perhaps that was the function of the T-virus; to mess with one's head before it claimed the body.

"Everything is horrific in its own way," she told him, mind drifting back to her current predicament.

Therein the point lay. The dilemma existed because she could see the situation only from her own point of view. She felt cheated, angry and frightened; would Chris if he knew? When she looked at Leon, she often felt as though she were gazing into a gender-indifferent mirror, so similar to one another she recognised them to be. His mind seemed to work the way hers did, and quite often his thoughts matched hers on a level that was both amusing and disturbing.

She knew that she needed advice, someone to at least help her set her mind straight. Who better to ask than Leon Kennedy?

"I need you to promise me something," she requested, fighting for the will to continue. She had yet to speak her predicament aloud, had yet to admit to what she faced.

He locked eyes with her and nodded to show that he could be trusted - a fact she was already sure of.

"You can't breathe a word of what I'm about to say to anyone," she pleaded. "Not even Chris...especially not Chris."

* * *

**_August 19, 2003. 5:30pm. El Paso, Texas._**

The restaurant was more than he had hoped for; laid back and intimate, the perfect venue for a date. Truth be told, Chris had not embarked on many formal dates in recent years. While he and Jill had made every effort to begin their relationship with a series of dates, they had always ended up with a pizza and a rented movie. Neither had complained; they both preferred the intimacy of such a setting as opposed to the scrutiny of dozens of unfamiliar eyes when on a public date. But he liked to take her out every once in a while and though she often claimed indifference, he knew that she enjoyed the treat.

He had gleefully anticipated their date this evening, had even clocked off a little early so he would not be late. He hated how strained relations had been lately, and strove do to the best he could to repair whatever had stalled before it became a far bigger issue. It was obvious that she struggled with something that she held internally and though he was desperate to pry, he knew that it would only do more damage in the long run. Instead, he had turned to helping her in whatever way he could, relieving the burden that work placed upon her so that she had more time to herself, to work through whatever had her vexed. Strangely, it appeared to have quite the opposite effect upon her than he had hoped.

His heart sank when he glanced at his watch once again. She had seemed to match his enthusiasm when she had accepted the offer of an early evening meal, yet she was over half an hour late. Calls to her cell went unanswered and there was no response from the line in their hotel room. Humiliation had begun to sink in roughly fifteen minutes into his lone seating. Perhaps she had to work late? If she did, he was sure she would have called.

His cell phone lay silently before him, obscuring the menu he had read cover to cover at least four times in boredom. The candle that flickered at the centre of the table was almost half-spent now, diners who had been seated at approximately the same time beginning to tuck into their desserts. His drink had been consumed long ago and though he continued to tell himself that she _would_ be there, he knew that buying another would be pointless. It all weighed heavily on his heart and he could feel the strain in every muscle that continued to ache after an earlier stretch in the gym.

She would not simply leave him like this...

He dialled her number once again, taking a deep breath as he prepared himself for the inevitable voicemail greeting.

"Where are you?" he asked, fighting hard to keep emotion from his voice. "I can't stay here, so I...guess I'll see you at the hotel."

Silence washed over him and for a moment he became lost in surrealism, disembodied voices fading into nothing around him. He had been stood up before, but never had he expected Jill Valentine to add to those bitter memories.

'Maybe she was upset?' he theorised. 'Maybe she didn't call because she was crying - she wouldn't want you to know.'

"I love you," he added before ending the call and reaching for his wallet. He could not remain a moment longer, not if his theory rang true. The thought of her hiding her tears in darkness, alone without comfort sickened him to the stomach. She cried far too often these days.

"Are you leaving, sir?" asked the waiter as he pulled several bills from his wallet.

"Unfortunately," he sighed, expression grim. "Something came up, I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise," the waiter smiled, accepting the tip graciously. "Enjoy your evening, sir."

He returned immediately to the base, foregoing the option of stopping by the hotel. There was little point; she would not be there. His wounded pride told him not to seek her, to return to their room, watch a movie and have an early night. But the same part of him wanted answers. Anger and worry ran side by side and he did not know which to turn to.

The base was quiet, as it always was after five. The recruits had either retreated to their hotels or made their way to the gym to continue a hard day's training. He knew this because it was exactly what he would have done had he not made other plans...plans that evidently did not quite go as he had hoped they would.

One thing he was sure of was that she had better have one hell of an excuse for missing their date.

He approached the east wing at a slow pace, trying desperately to release the tension he could feel building within. If there was one positive to come out of his sudden cessation of smoking, it was that he had learned to control his anger to an extent he had not been capable of in the past. Two months ago, he would likely have punched a hole clear through the dry wall by now. With an elevated state of agitation brought on by nicotine withdrawal, he had been forced to leash his emotions lest they reduce the base to rubble. The withdrawal continued, but his mood had begun to settle and he found that the techniques he had adopted were equally useful in less volatile situations.

It was not long before he witnessed a sight that threatened to break the leash and stomp all over his improvised anger management strategy. He had not quite known what he truly expected. Perhaps she would be up to the elbows in paperwork? Maybe she was taking her emotions out on a punch bag or jogging away her troubles?

But she was not. A long window opened into a room he had used many times himself for planning; the one room in the base that was always guaranteed to be steeped in the kind of silence that ensured productivity.

He could not see the face of the girl in Kennedy's arms, but he knew that it was Jill. The way her arms hooked beneath his, the angle at which her head was held against his chest; they were actions he had felt on many occasions. Then, they parted, but remained close as he smiled down at her, fingertips brushing against a cheek.

What surprised Chris the most was that it was not anger that surfaced. Whatever it was, it was cold, and it spread through each and every organ until he was sure that they had all failed. She had not missed their date because she was working; she had not missed it because she was crying...she had missed it because she was with Leon.

He turned from the scene before the icy tendrils he dared not name wound too deep. He did not know where he was heading, only that he needed to be far away from them.

* * *

Leon did not embrace as Chris did. She sensed awkward hesitance on his part, as though he had little to no experience in comforting a crying woman, but knew that it was the right thing to do. But most of all, she did not fit into his arms the way she did with Chris, did not feel the same comfort. Chris's comfort came from every detail, from the pressure that told her he would never let go to the comforting combination of his body heat and natural scent.

It should not have mattered, but it did. Though she could feel that a weight had lifted from her shoulders, it was not significant. Opening up to Leon had been a good start, but it had not been enough.

"You don't need these," he told her, brushing a few fallen tears from her cheeks. "You need to talk to him, Jill."

"I can't," she breathed, sure of this now. "It's too much."

"He'll understand," he assured her as she took a step back and wiped away the remaining tears herself. "He'll understand because he loves you."

She considered explaining her thought process, explaining everything that her 'loving' boyfriend would simply not be able to live with. But she knew that he would not listen.

"Understanding isn't the problem," she explained. "It's tolerance. It's- Look, what would _you_ do if you were in his position?"

"I'd realise that I wouldn't want to lose a girl like you," he answered without missing a beat. "Not if I felt about you the way Chris does."

It occurred to her that he had a point, but as always she erred on the safe side of pessimism.

"Thank you," she whispered, knowing that arguing her point would lead nowhere. "Thank you for listening."

He smiled and she averted her eyes, feeling the awkwardness begin to set in. His eyes continued to dart to his laptop, perhaps unintentionally but she could tell that he was desperate to resume his conversation with Claire. Of course, she had her own plans that night.

She glanced to the clock on the wall, her heart sinking when it appeared to be an hour too early. Time certainly was dragging today.

"It feels like we've been here for hours," she chuckled in an attempt to bring the conversation back to warmer ground.

Leon followed her eyes and laughed himself, settling down in front of his laptop once again.

"I wouldn't go by that clock if I were you," he told her. "It's slow."

His words pressed her heart further into her stomach and her eyes fell suddenly to her wrist, only to find that she had left her wristwatch in the hotel room.

"W-what time is it?" she stuttered.

"Five-fifty," he answered with a light frown. Evidently, Claire was no longer online. "I've told them to fix it but nobody listens to me round here."

All of a sudden, her blood ran cold. Five-fifty? She was supposed to meet Chris over an hour ago!

"Oh no," she gasped, horrified at herself. She had missed a date, missed the one opportunity for normality to return. A moment to themselves was all they had wanted and now that the opportunity had finally arisen she had blown it. Intention did not matter; it would not ease the tension that would now be at an unbearable level.

"I...have to go," she spluttered, and took off before Leon could call her name.

Her sneakers skidded against the polished floor, but she maintained her balance long enough to make it out onto the stone steps and the sidewalk that lay beyond. A thousand apologies tested meaning in her mind, but it was regret that proved most prominent. At any other time, such an oversight would have caused an argument but little more. She dared not consider what the consequences would be now.

The hotel was quiet when she jogged through its doors, and she hoped and prayed that he had returned to their room. But when she opened the door and stepped inside, she was greeted only by silence and a sight that had not changed since they had left that morning.

A feeling of overwhelming sadness washed over her, and the key card in her hands fell to the floor. She could almost see the breakdown before her eyes, could almost feel him brush past her with far fewer regrets. She barely made it to the edge of the bed before the tears came and the comfort Leon had momentarily provided ebbed away.

Never before had she felt so close to losing a loved one. Never before had she felt so afraid of an impending break-up. But was a break-up truly on the cards?

'Would it be so bad?' her conscience decided to ask. And she could find no fault with its reasoning. She had never factored the feeling of previous lovers into her decisions, partly because she had not truly loved those men. But Chris was another story; he had been her friend before her lover and she would always have his best interests at heart. It only pained her to realise that this time, being without her was in his best interests.

Was her love selfish? She knew that she could live without his love, and that the pain would fade in time, but she did not want to walk away. She wanted to wake up every morning and know that he was there, to be comforted by his touch and words that were often inappropriate but always well-meant. But he wanted so much more; it would never be enough for him.

When the thought of cutting and running occurred to her, she cast it violently aside. She could not think straight, could not separate her thoughts; now was not the time to consider such an irreversible step.

* * *

**_August 19, 2003. 6:00pm. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas._**

"Ass," Claire grumbled beneath her breath, pacing the same stretch of carpet she had circled for the past half hour. She could not believe he would have the audacity to leave a conversation without as much as a goodbye. Her teasing could not possibly have affected him; he gave as good as he got.

But enough was enough. If he would not answer her, she would seek him out and ensure that the rest of his evening was nothing short of hell.

Her laptop was carefully tipped into a bag that was then slung over her shoulder and she stepped quickly into the hallway. The purpose of her continued presence in Texas was not entirely due to a desire to reconnect with old friends, but she knew that her official duties would not begin until the BSAA team had moved out and begun what she hoped would be a successful infiltration. Time, until then, was on her side and she was forced to find increasingly desperate ways to entertain herself. Torturing her brother proved nigh on impossible with his busy schedule; Leon, on the other hand, was far too easy and had far too much spare time on his hands.

It was not long until she crossed the path of her brother, and annoyance burned through her veins when he did not register her presence.

"Hey," she called out, and he came to a sudden stop. "Am I invisible today?"

Chris turned apologetically, but suddenly his ignorance was no matter. He was running from something, she could tell from his expression and from the smile that did not appear on his lips as it always did when they spoke.

"Are you okay?" she asked as she touched his arm gently.

"Not really," he admitted. She was a little thrown off by his denial. Chris was always alright, and when he was not he would pretend otherwise. Never before had he willingly revealed weakness.

She did not need to ask for a reason. Judging by the time, his date with Jill had obviously been a disaster. She had not a clue why their relationship had darkened. Perhaps work had finally begun to take its toll?

"Hang in there," she pleaded. "A few more days and this will all be over. You'll both have room to breathe again."

He let out a chuckle that was as ominous as it was disheartening.

"I don't think room is what she needs," he replied sharply. "There wasn't a lot of room between her and Leon the last time I saw them."

"What?" Surely she could not have heard him correctly?

"She never turned up to the restaurant," he explained, spitting out words with much difficulty. "I came back, tried to find her...she was with Leon. She stood me up because she was with him."

She did not believe him. Leon was a friend to them all, there was no way in hell he would do that to Chris. Aside from the betrayal, he was perfectly aware of what Chris was capable of subjecting him to.

"I'm sure it was innocent," she assured him with a smile. "You're overreacting, as usual."

"Maybe it _was_ innocent," he agreed. "But the way he held her sure didn't look innocent."

She felt a tug within her gut, and an inexplicably cold lump rose to her throat. Leon would not do such a thing. _Jill_ would not do such a thing; she knew that she would have one hell of an angry sister to answer to.

"I should have expected it," he spoke sadly, his tone one of lost hope. "She doesn't want to live with me; she obviously doesn't see a future with me. Story of my life, I guess."

"Don't talk like that," she warned him. Though it pained her to witness him so lost and so afraid, it hurt her deeply to see his usually strong resolve falter so easily. All because of one girl. "Leon will flirt with anything that moves, but Jill loves you and she knows better than to fall for that. _If_, of course, you aren't blowing the whole thing out of proportion as you usually do."

As Jill's friend, she had been privy to details of her brother's relationship that he would never have revealed himself. She could remember her nerves as she had prepared for dates in the early days of their courtship, and the sombre mood that had fallen upon her when a week had passed without any contact between the two. Jill looked at Chris as a love-struck teenager would gaze upon their crush; her feelings were true and no amount of denial could nullify that.

"We hug," she reminded him. "You hug Rebecca and Alejandra, and don't think I didn't see you teasing Hillary the other day. It's all innocent, as was what you saw. But I'll talk to Leon, okay?"

He frowned, obviously not liking the idea, but he did not complain. Leon perhaps did not understand how volatile Chris and Jill's relationship had become, and a well-meaning embrace could be misconstrued as something more.

"It's you she wants to be with, trust me on that one," she smiled. "Now go have a drink or something and sleep this funk off. It doesn't suit you and to be quite honest, it's creeping me the hell out."

He laughed at this and tousled her hair. Intent on ensuring that their conversation would go no further, she thwacked him on the arm and turned away, offering only a blind wave over her shoulder as she sought out the man that had them both in quite a state.

'Depending on how this goes, Jill is next,' she swore to herself.

She was dismayed to find that Leon remained at his laptop when she finally cornered him; the bastard had intentionally disrupted their conversation.

"Real men say goodbye, you know," she shot before he had been given the opportunity to greet her.

"Jesus, Claire," he gasped, jumping in his seat. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Maybe," she chided before allowing her voice to drop to a more serious tone. "I need to talk to you."

Leon looked up from the screen of his laptop, awaiting a question he no doubt expected to be amicable. How wrong he was.

Her brother's worry had triggered something deep within her, something that differed from the usual protectiveness over her closest living relative. No, this was connected to her own feelings in a way she had yet to discern. Somehow, she _cared_ what the answer to his question would be.

"So Jill's a great girl, huh?" she asked, shying away from the root of the problem. Leon simply laughed and pushed down the lid of his laptop so that he could better gaze upon her.

"She is," he agreed, in a move that only served to stoke the unidentified furnace in her gut. Could it be jealousy? "Why? Are you thinking about asking her out? Because if you are, I wholeheartedly support the idea."

She glared at him, deadpan. What was it exactly that she was theoretically jealous of? He laughed but she continued to frown and realised that shooting for the heart of the problem was the only way to go.

"Do you like her?"

This held his attention for sure. She was not required to wait for his words to find her answer; she could see it in the amusement in his eyes.

"As a friend, yes," he told her. "But that's it. She is a good friend but that's all I see her as, I swear."

Had she not known any better, she would have thought something of the insistence in his tone; as though he wanted her to know for sure that he harboured no feelings for their mutual friend.

"Where has this come from?"

She debated revealing to him her brother's concern but realised that it would cause many more problems than it would solve.

"Nowhere," she lied, deciding that it was not a conversation she was willing to fall into at that moment.

The smile that was sent her way added to the discomfort that continued to linger. Nothing had changed, yet somehow she felt differently around him. Scared, perhaps.

"I assume you were looking for something?" Leon asked, sensing that the moment could turn quite awkward if he did not intervene. The uninterested tone he wore could have been intentional; she did not know. He was more difficult to read than one of her brother's reports; not quite a closed book, more a tome from a long lost culture whose language had not yet been deciphered.

"You, actually," she countered with a fabricated indifferent tone of her own. "I'm sick of mooching around here with nothing to do so I thought I'd offer my assistance."

Leon chuckled.

"You've been spying, not mooching around," he reminded her. "Don't deny it; I've seen you."

Her mock of a frown faded; she was so sure she had been discreet.

"Hey, I have gossip that would entertain even your empty mind," she teased. "Come on, I'm bored out of my mind here. If you don't need any help, just talk to me."

He smiled deviously, but caught himself moments later and altered his expression.

"We could talk," he agreed. "I suppose there's something left for us to catch up on."

Claire concealed her smile far better than he had, and faked an expression of mild amusement.

"Well, you never did explain how you got those ridiculously tiny scars…"

* * *

**_August 19, 2003. 7:47pm. Location unknown._**

"I don't think that is possible," Mike whispered, cell phone clasped tightly to his ear. "We need to reschedule. I know, but- Listen, you're going to have to compromise your terms if you want this to work. Yes. Yes, I understand. I'm doing the best I can, but security is stepping up. Not yet, the schedule still applies. I'll keep you informed. Okay, thank you."

A sudden whir behind him and the following whizz of the automatic door provoked a short, sharp jump and he had to fight to keep the cell phone within his grip.

"Yes," he spoke into the handset, moisture building beneath his collar. "Honey, I have to go now. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I love you."

He could not clasp shut the handset any faster and held his posture awkwardly. Sensing movement behind him, he turned to lay eyes on a low-level colleague; a man just like himself.

"The wife," he explained hurriedly. "You won't...tell anyone, will you? I'm still on duty, I-"

"I saw nothing," his colleague laughed. "Don't worry; I've made my fair share of 'illegal' calls."

"Thanks, Donovan," Mike sighed. His nerves were on edge far too often these days. If he was not careful, he may not make it to his overdue period of leave.

"How's she doing?" asked Donovan, delving into his own locker to retrieve his casual attire.

"She's faring well," Mike replied with a smile. "The morning sickness returned for a second round for a little while, but she's feeling much better now."

"Not long to go now, huh? You excited."

Mike grinned widely. Excited did not quite describe how he felt.

"To understate things," he gushed. "The boy can't wait for her to arrive. I think he's more excited than we are."

Donovan laughed the knowing laugh of a man of experience. Truth was that Mike regretted the days he spent analysing dozens of virulent samples in the lab when he should have been at home, painting the nursery and generally waiting on his wife hand a foot. Family came first, but unfortunately money was not easy to come by and this job paid enough to put both of his children through college.

"Have you heard about the envoys?" Donovan asked.

"Yes," was his reply. "Can you believe it? What kind of ass must this guy be? Bastard thinks he's royalty."

The truth was that the so-called Major's pretentious behaviour had irritated every individual aware of his impending arrival. It was clear that he was a man who valued his status, and Mike was willing to bet every cent of his wage packet that money was of equally high importance.

He turned back towards Donovan, preparing to voice his thoughts when a flash of red caught his eye. Donovan's fingernails scraped across the skin of his right wrist, etching painful red welts into his skin. Or at least what was left of his skin. A wet, red band encircled his wrist, raw lesions he had no doubt inflicted with his own fingernails. What troubled Mike the most was that his colleague did not appear to register that which must have been causing him blinding pain.

"Don," he gasped. "What the hell happened?"

Donovan dropped his eyes to the wound and chuckled nervously.

"Guess my eczema is flaring," he winced. "Truth be told, I haven't been feeling so hot today."

Mike frowned, hoping that whatever he had contracted was not contagious. With the arrival of the Major in two days' time, they could not afford to have any setbacks. Anything that could be construed as suspicious would likely not end well.

Once again, nerves threatened to get the better of him.

* * *

**_August 19, 2003. 9:04pm. BSAA temporary headquarters. El Paso, Texas._**

With one final swing, the punchbag trembled precariously. Jill had no idea how old this equipment was, but she was beginning to believe that it posed a minor health and safety risk.

"Damn, girl," Tessa laughed. "Go easy, there may be others planning to use that thing."

Despite the lack of energy and of emotion that remained in her body, she found that a smile was not yet an impossible feat. Tessa grinned through amusement, arms folded across her chest.

Though not as friendly and eager as Hillary, Tessa had proven to be an equally valuable comrade. Though her background was unclear save for a spell as an intelligence analyst for the US Army, she was undeniably one of the more skilled members of the team. It seemed a shame somehow that she had chosen to join the BSAA as a medical officer, putting to use the years of medical school she had previously abandoned for a career in the armed forces. Though she had asked, Jill still did not know of her reasoning.

Raven-haired, tanned and with eyes a shade of two from Chris's natural blue, she had not failed in drawing the attention of the male members of the team, more so than the younger members. Perhaps it was the magic of a woman in her thirties?

'Two years to wait,' Jill told herself. 'Then you'll know what it's all about.'

But was growing older truly a blessing? Most of her twenties had been stolen from her; with the rate at which the search for Wesker and Spencer was going, her thirties looked to go much the same way.

'Luckily you have nothing to look forward to,' she grumbled inwardly.

"Okay, I'm going to hit the showers," Tessa announced as she peeled off her gloves. "If I stay here any longer you're going to make me feel inadequate."

Jill laughed as she was slapped amicably on the shoulder and reached to wring her comrade's hand.

"Looks like you're going to need some alone time, anyway," Tessa hummed as she left.

Unsure of what she meant, Jill turned towards the exit, and found that her smile widened until she was sure that her cheeks would split.

"Hey, stranger," a pleasantly familiar accented voice purred.

She wasted no time in stepping across the exercise mats, wrapping her arms around her friend's muscular figure the moment she drew close enough.

"Carlos," she gasped, squeezing perhaps a little too tightly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

In the days that followed the fall of Umbrella, Carlos had joined Barry in the denial of a place in the BSAA. His decision surprised Jill more than anything at the time; she was so sure that he of all people would join them. But he had walked away, had retreated to South America for a well-earned break. Last she heard he was working for an NGO in a similar capacity to the younger Redfield sibling.

"You didn't hear?" he laughed. "They brought me in as a consultant."

She was confused but chose not to press the matter.

"It's good to see you," she told him. "It's been far too long."

"Tell me about it," he agreed joyfully. "You look good, Valentine. Hot as hell. You still with Chris?"

She pushed him away with a groan and sarcastic roll of the eyes. Some people never changed.

"Yeah, forget what I said," he groaned. "I saw what you did to that punch bag."

And suddenly, happiness faded as reality returned to the moment. Her reasons for seeking refuge in the gym, the explanation for her befuddled mind; it all added up to turn a pleasant reunion into an awkward meeting.

"So, a consultant?" she asked, purely to throw him off any scent of something not quite right. "How does that work?"

He followed as she returned to an over-polished bench, peeling off her gloves before extracting a bottle of water from her bag. Moisture beaded on the bottle, the cool touch of the plastic soothing to her overworked hands.

"To be honest, I don't think they know what they are dealing with here," he admitted, stating the obvious. "They have a lot of Intel pertaining to the leader of this smuggling ring, but I don't think they're having any luck at all in understanding its meaning. All they know is that he is likely an ex-Umbrella employee who spent time in Raccoon prior to its destruction. So, they brought in the only ex-Umbrella employee they know to have worked in Raccoon - albeit briefly. To be honest, I think I was a suspect at first."

Though his suspicion horrified her, she admittedly was not surprised. As soon as the story of Umbrella's suspected involvement in the Raccoon City incident broke, many employees began to defect. But many remained, and many remained loyal to the company that signed their pay checks. The UBCS was notorious for the employment of disgraced armed forces personnel, criminals and mercenaries of dubious loyalty, and she could not deny that circumstantial evidence made Carlos a likely contender for the BSAA's current number three enemy. Thankfully, several solid alibis had proven his innocence and, she assumed, led to the realisation of his usefulness.

"They have a lot of cock-ups to make up for," she surmised. "Can't blame them for being overly suspicious."

"I suppose not," he hummed in agreement. "I don't know exactly what they expect me to do."

"What are your thoughts?" she asked, curious at least about this. The promise of an avenue to Wesker was far too tempting to ignore. "Who do you think this leader guy is?"

Carlos paused for a moment, deep in thought.

"Probably a doctor," he guessed. "Someone who was evacuated before the infection got out of hand. It's unlikely they are ex-UBCS; not many survived and those who did ran with their tails between their legs. There was a lot of illegal research going on at Raccoon General and I honestly would not be surprised if this scumbag was involved."

She shuddered at the mere reminder of the night he had wandered the halls of the hospital. While he had been racing to find a cure, she had been praying for death. She could never leave that long hour behind, not even now.

"Umbrella evacuated their high-level employees as soon as the outbreak was detected," he continued. "The vast majority of them retreated to Spencer's employ and a select few to the Caucasus facility. It could be a megalomaniacal researcher, could even be a power-hungry civilian. Hell, it could be anyone."

He seemed disgruntled, perhaps at the fact that he had been dragged into a mess that was not his to clean. Violence was likely to ensue and he had made the decision to turn from blood and gunfire the moment he refused to join the BSAA. He had wielded his first firearm before he had reached his teens, and now that he was twenty-six, he held the hope that he would never have to kill again.

Deep down, he was a pacifist, but knew that war was an inevitable by-product of modern times. No dispute could be resolved without casualty, and he accepted that. He played his part and prayed for a day when it would all be unnecessary.

Jill wished that she could look at the world in the same way. But all she saw was corruption and greed; a world built on fear. It was clear that one person could not make a difference, but as long as she tried she knew that maybe some day someone would learn what it meant to live without fear.

"I probably shouldn't stay long," Carlos mumbled, eyelids drooping as he watched her dab at her damp neck with a towel, wincing a little from aches that were no doubt self-inflicted. "I haven't been sleeping well and flying tends to throw my body all to whack."

"Are you staying at the Regent?" she asked.

"No," he replied with a shake of the head. "It was fully booked by the time they roped me in. I'm staying a little way into town. But I'll walk you back if you want?"

"Sure."

How could she refuse? The opportunity to so much as speak to old friends did not arise often these days. Though she felt that the short journey would be spent in silence, she accepted that an extra few minutes in his company would do no harm. The strenuous exercise she had subjected herself to left her in need of a shower, but she had neither the patience nor energy to seek out the shower room; she could always wash up at the hotel.

"So how have you been?" he asked once her bag had been heaved onto her shoulder and their short journey had begun.

"Frazzled," she sighed. "You know how pilot missions are; chaotic and generally designed to sap your will to live."

He hummed quietly to himself.

"Funny," he chuckled. "I always thought you would enjoy something like this."

As did she. But she had never anticipated stepping into a position of such responsibility, let alone step into it with a relationship that she barely felt able to hold together. Add the pressure of her medical and the maelstrom of nonsense that her thoughts had become lately, and she was left with a period of time that she would much rather be over already.

"Dreams have a funny way of shattering," she lamented.

"Jill-"

"This is me," she interrupted, looking up towards the sky and the high rise blocks of her hotel. "It was nice to see you again."

"Yeah..." he mused thoughtfully. "You have my number. Call me, alright?"

She assured him that she would and left before he could question her sudden shift in tone. She had talked enough for one day; all she wanted was to shower, curl up between the sheets and forget all that the day had subjected her to. One thing was for sure; it had been the longest twenty-four hours she had ever endured.

The lights were out in her room when she returned, but the curtains remained open and moonlight spilled onto the bed. Soft snores drifted towards her and she was once again endowed with the unwelcome companionship of sorrow. Treading carefully, she moved to the sofa and deposited her bag, reaching for her pyjamas before she began to strip. Running water would wake him, and her guilt slept with him.

Still, rather than pull out the sofa bed she returned to him, slipping beneath the covers to bask in his stifling warmth.

On many occasions she had contemplated what her future held, what she wanted in her life when Umbrella were destroyed and Spencer and Wesker brought to justice. Prior to the conception of the BSAA she had always thought that she would step back into law enforcement, start dating again, fall in love and raise a family that would never know fear the way she did. But then she had opened her heart to Chris, and suddenly her priorities shifted. A long list of wants and needs was whittled down into one certainty: him. Lying at his side, watching him sleep in blissful ignorance, she knew that she wanted to wake to him every morning, to fall asleep at his side and spend the rest of her life loving him. It was corny and quite often she hated herself for harbouring such soppy thoughts, but it was the truth.

She wiggled closer to his sleeping form and reached out to touch his warm skin. Her fingertips burned upon contact and he shifted in peaceful slumber but ultimately did not wake.

Whatever her future held, it meant nothing if she did not share it with him. Marriage, children, inevitable retirement; she knew that he wanted it also. He would make such a wonderful father, and she would become the doting wife she had sworn she would never resign herself to.

But it was a fable. They lived in a world where nightmares were the norm, and dreams were waking up in the morning to find that the world had not dropped another rung into darkness.

'_The_ world or _your_ world?' she asked herself.

A tear slipped free, sliding down her cheek until it spilled against the pillowcase. Her world seemed to be falling apart before her eyes and there wasn't a damn thing she could do, because the damage had already been dealt.

"I love you," she whispered as her fingers brushed against the smooth skin of his cheek. She leaned forward then, pressing her lips gently against his. She felt the warmth throughout her entire body, but guilt flared with all that was positive.

There was nothing in her future for him, she knew that for certain. Through a lens of realism she could see that all he wanted was just not possible. She did not know what her future held, but she could see that it looked bleak. Sure, all was well now, but one day...one day her luck would run out and he would be left with nothing but wasted years and nothing to show for them.

The tears came forcefully now. She hated crying, hated how weak it made her feel, how vulnerable she would appear with moisture in her eyes.

Chris slept on, oblivious to her weakness. He looked so handsome in the moonlight, all signs of wasted youth erased. She remembered how he would complain of growing old, how he would smile and pretend that he was content with what he had when they both knew that he wanted so much more than the life they had been given. But they were dedicated, not only to each other, but to the preservation of freedom and hope. Perhaps one day they would fight for themselves, perhaps one day they would even fight for each other. Until then, she would live with uncertainty. Because the part of her that did not scream for a clean break clung desperately to him. She did not want to lose him.

"I'm so confused," she told him in a low whisper. "I want to be enough for you, I really do."

She could barely even choke out the words and embarrassment turned now to herself. If the others could see her now...

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open, catching hers for a moment before they closed wearily once again. Her heart must have skipped a beat, and her lungs burned with the breath she withheld. Was he awake?

His limbs were lethargic in their movements, but his arms wound around her, pulling her close to the heat that threatened to suffocate. Deep snuffles and a delirious sigh told her that he was not awake, but neither was he asleep. Somewhere between the two states, he would wake in the morning and believe this to be a dream. But she settled into his arms, ignoring the uncomfortable position that he now had her pinned in. She was sure that in his sleep he believed her to be a pillow that could be bent any which way and squeezed almost to bursting point. It was endearing, but also deeply saddening.

A smile seemed to haunt his lips, and breath once again caught in her throat.

"I love you," she repeated tearfully as she finally settled down to sleep. "And I am so sorry."

**AN - Please review :)**


	5. Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover

**AN - **Wow, I honestly didn't think I would get this chapter up before the weekend was over. This chapter was quite strange to write. At one point, the plan slipped and I just kept writing what felt right and I came out with what I think is probably my favourite scene so far. Unfortunately, that meant that I had to rearrange this chapter and next, swapping a few scenes to make it work better. But it does mean that a certain something was brought forward a chapter. Well, half of a certain something ;). I hope I did it justice.  
Please let me know how I'm doing with the pacing so far. I am thinking forward to the mission and I was starting to worry that it was dragging on a little. Chapter title is from a song by Paul Simon.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter: _Ninja-Gnome, Ivilith, Razial, tek, xSummonerYunax, Kenshin13, Chaed, Sparkle Valentine_ and xwittychickx. And a big hello to all my new readers. I was astounded by how much the hits/visitors for this story went up last chapter. Don't be shy, drop a line ;).

* * *

**Blindside**

_**Chapter Four - **__Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover_

_-+-_

_"Him that I love, I wish to be free - even from me."  
~Anne Morrow Lindbergh~_

_-+-_

_**August 21, 2003. 11:23am. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas.**_

She was not reading it correctly. That had to be it. There was no other explanation that made sense. Some idiot in administration had crossed their lines and pencilled her name in the wrong group.

_C. Redfield._

She glared at the signature. He could not have checked the roster correctly, would not have signed off on such an important arrangement had he been aware of this colossal mistake.

"It doesn't matter," Leon assured her with an indifferent shrug.

"Yes it does!" she insisted through gritted teeth. "I train with Alpha and I train with him, now I'm training without him in both sessions. Are we supposed to play it by ear when we're out there?"

"Isn't that what you usually do?" he laughed, but silenced himself when she did not find his words amusing. "Jill, it's nothing. You've worked with him for seven years; you don't _need_ to train with him."

"That's not the point," she fumed. "This is deliberate. He switched my place with Donny's; _you_ are in the same group as him still!"

"Donny is a rookie in most respects," he pointed out. "Our group is more intensive. You know how to handle yourself, he doesn't."

"Stop making excuses for him, Leon," she snarled, ripping the note from the board. He offered no more of his wise words, choosing only to sigh at the realisation that there was simply no getting through to her.

"Don't take your anger out on me," he warned. "Go back to the hotel, Jill. I don't want your help when you're like this."

She tried to protest but he walked away, leaving her to fester in her own foul presence. It was difficult to keep company these days; even Chris had begun to avoid her. Was that why he had moved her to another group? She would not deny that she was easily riled in current days, but that was no excuse for wilful ignorance.

"Where is he?" she growled as someone brushed past her, reaching to grip the front of the stranger's BSAA-issue shirt.

As it transpired, it was Donny Miller that she had apprehended, and whatever animosity she felt towards her wayward partner suddenly transferred to the rookie. Twenty-three years old, he was barely out of service with the US Army, so affected by what he had witnessed on his first tour that he had requested a transfer to the hopefully less violent BSAA. Prior to his application, he never anticipated just how dangerous Jill Valentine's bad side could be, and how easy it was to get on it these days.

"W-where's w-w-who?" he stuttered, the breath he had held stolen the moment she had halted his steps.

"Redfield," she growled, waving the now-crumpled sheet of paper before his eyes. He squinted for a moment, reading the words that had been scrawled onto the sheet. Jill could not help but notice that he appeared even more mouse-like when pulling this specific expression.

"W-when did they switch us?" he asked, perhaps to the detriment of his safety. "Uh, Redfield? He, um...that way?"

She dropped him immediately, and followed his direction down the left-hand hallway, heavy footsteps echoing off the walls of the old building. She was not entirely sure of what she intended to do to Chris, knowing only that she was furious and would make sure that he knew. If he could no longer stomach being around her then he should at least have the decency to tell it to her face.

She found him in the third room on the right; a luckily otherwise unoccupied office it was clear he had begun to make his safe haven. He had conveniently adopted the habit of rising before she did every morning, and due to conflicting schedules, shared lunch was an impossibility. It all added up to pile onto her anger, and there was little need for her to force hostility when she confronted him.

"What the hell is this?" she demanded.

Chris jumped at the sudden, boisterous intrusion but she did not miss the fall in his expression when he laid eyes on the roster.

"It's the new list," he explained, risking world war three with his nonchalant tone.

Jill could not believe what she was hearing. There was no attempt to explain himself, not even an apology.

"Look at this!" she snarled, holding his own script where he could not miss the names he had etched onto the paper. "Redfield, Kennedy, Jones, Connolly, Miller. You switched my place!"

"Do you wonder why?" he asked as he snatched the paper from her hand, perhaps afraid of what she intended to do with it. She had threatened to shove many things where the sun didn't shine, but this was the first time he had feared the threat may be followed through. "I don't know what problem you have with me, but until you calm down we can't work together like this. Besides, our schedules cohere better this way."

"Problem?" She growled. "_Problem?_" It did not occur to her that venting her anger at that moment only served to prove his point.

Why was she so angry? He had accepted her heartfelt apology for missing their date, and had met her hostility with the love he would show when she was not so volatile. Perhaps her reasoning lay here? When she pushed, he would push back and suddenly she would see the foolishness of her actions. She would have preferred to be met with the infamous Redfield temper, for the situation to escalate to the point where-

To what point exactly?

"We need to talk, Jill," he spoke calmly, irritating her further. "Not now...I don't want to face this mission in the fallout, but we need to talk."

And then her heart sank into the pit of her stomach; he expected fallout, and he expected it to be negative enough to impact on their work. Surely this meant the worst?

'Shouldn't you be happy?' spoke a tiny voice in the back of her mind. 'You've been pushing him away, and now he is ready to walk. You should be ecstatic.'

But she did not want him to walk away...she did not know what she wanted, and until she did she knew that she would continue to play games with both their hearts. It was not fair, but in her confusion it was the only way she knew how to act. She had never before dealt with fear linked to her emotions. Why did opening up to him terrify her? The doctor's words had provoked many important thoughts, each and every one of which involved him. Yet she could not bring herself to accept these thoughts, let alone discuss how she felt with him. And she could not for the life of her think why.

"Don't change the subject," she threatened.

"Well one of us has to!" he roared. Finally, he offered something that she could use. "I understand that there are some things you don't want to talk about, and I respect that. But you have some decisions to make if we are going to last as a couple. What do you see in our future, Jill?"

And with that, her heart broke. All she knew to do was push, but she was too afraid to see him go. It was clear that he loved her, that she meant a hell of a lot to him. But the secret she harboured would break either deals or hearts, possibly both. It was a double-headed serpent, ready to strike from whichever end she presented it. He would leave her for sure; one way or another, they would be apart.

So she chose to answer with honesty. He had asked what she saw in their future, not what she wanted to see.

"Not you," she whispered, her voice barely carrying her words. But he had heard them, and the emotion that fell into his eyes forced her to turn away.

All of a sudden, her resolve failed. Anger was far from her reach, and spoken words held too much regret for her to resolve.

After all, the truth often hurt far more than lies.

* * *

Leon felt as though he had been ambushed. What had been construed as a brief meeting with his superior had seen him brought before a whole panel of representatives; the first time he had seen them all together since planning began. He had begun to doubt their existence.

"Take a seat," the foremost member urged, signalling to a lone chair before the gathering. Strangely, he felt as though he were on trial.

He struggled to remember the names of the individuals before him; aside from his direct supervisor, he rarely had opportunity to meet any other high-seated members of the government. Aside from that, the UN, WHO and CDC also had representatives present; his work had yet to bring him in contact with the latter two and positions within the former had altered a little since his last dealings with them.

"Troubling news has come to our attention today," Gregor informed him, a freshly-grown beard bouncing beneath his chin as he spoke. "Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine."

Leon groaned quietly, though his reaction was evidently overheard.

"I take it that these rumours are true?" Gregor asked, though his tone suggested that the question was rhetorical. "Their relationship is currently tolerated as they have given us no reason to believe that it will interfere with their work ethic. However, rumours of fighting are a cause for concern."

"And you want me to vouch for them?" Leon sighed. "Sir, Redfield and Valentine are both valued members of the BSAA. You have seen their track record in prior positions; there are no two people better suited for this job. At times, relations between the two can become volatile, but that goes regardless of any romantic attachment. I've known them both long enough to know that their performance will not suffer because of this."

Gregor eyed him curiously, glancing to the men at his sides before coughing into a closed fist.

"Our immediate response would usually be to remove them from the mission and send them both for assessment," Gregor explained. "However, we recognise that this mission has a doubled chance of success with their involvement and we cannot afford any more setbacks. As an experienced acquaintance of the parties involved, and a trusted agent, your word will be taken but I will warn you now that you place your word on your job, Agent Kennedy."

Leon swallowed, every hair rising on his arms. He understood that arguments were part of how they both worked. It was the meeting of two passionate and dedicated minds; when mixing chemicals you are bound to have a reaction. But this time it was different. Until Jill opened up and admitted her feelings, the tension would only escalate. They were both as stubborn as each other, and this no longer acted as a positive.

"I understand, sir," he accepted. He would talk to her, and make her understand that he would hold her personally responsible if he lost his job.

"Very well," Gregor sighed. "You are dismissed."

It was not without dismay that he stood to leave. Never before had he been asked to vouch for a friend at the risk of his job. Normally, he would have refused. After all, their problems were nothing to do with him and they should know better than to allow personal issues to interfere with professionalism.

"One more thing, Scott," spoke the UN representative the moment his hand touched the cold steel of the door handle.

"Leon," he corrected automatically, horrifying himself with the lack of formality that seeped from his tongue.

"Apologies, Leon," the man corrected. "You should know that both Redfield and Valentine are under assessment, not only for their future position within the BSAA. This was ordered prior to recent events, but their performance in relation to each other will be assessed. At the end of the assignment it will be judged whether or not their personal relationship is inappropriate so far as active duty is concerned. You may wish to inform them of this...off the record."

Leon recognised the man as the higher representative during the meetings that gave the inception of the BSAA the green light. Though he could not recall his name, this man had stood by the original eleven with unswerving support. His backing ensured that serious attention was diverted their way and the support that was needed was ultimately received.

The others glanced nervously to their desks, with the exception of Gregor's usual poker face; he could tell that Chris and Jill had their support already, barring any major screw-ups. It was nice to know that they had friends in high places. Then again, he had yet to meet an individual who had shown adversity to the two; at least, anyone on their side.

"Thank you, sir," he accepted, and left before any further issue was made.

The mind truly boggled. Had he not known Chris and Jill on such a personal level, their popularity would have infuriated them. It took little more than their names on the idea of the BSAA to garner interest in the endeavour; their reputations preceded them, despite the fact that the vast majority of their work had been carried out off the radar, so to speak. They deserved every ounce of respect that was awarded to them, but he often wished that they would not spend so much time acting like damn children.

Was his reaction appropriate? He considered this as he continued through the empty hallways, toying with alternate possibilities. It was the best course of action for the team; the departure of the two senior most agents would have a devastating effect on morale. Aside from that, the mission would likely not recover from a loss so important. Where would they find two agents well enough equipped to take on their role with such short notice? Many of them felt that the mission was doomed to failure to begin with.

'You need to talk to Chris,' he told himself. 'Jill won't listen.'

Because the fact of the matter was that he had begun to worry. The mission was not all that appeared to be at stake. Jill was an intelligent girl, she knew how to take care of herself, but her defences appeared to have stalled this time. She was confused, and sadly it was not an issue he felt equipped to deal with.

As luck would have it, the familiar form of Chris Redfield turned into the corridor ahead of him. Perhaps this endeavour would be easier than he thought.

"Chris!" he called out, failing to register warning signs that played like the call of a rattlesnake. "I need to talk to you."

He was answered only with a glare, but still he failed to heed the warning. Something had riled the older man, and the first hard lesson he had learned upon joining the Raccoon survivors was that attempting to engage an angry Redfield in conversation was about as safe as poking a sleeping lion in the eye.

But still, he reached out for an arm as he passed, closing fingers around a surprisingly muscular forearm.

It was then that the lion snapped. In an instant, his back was against the wall, a closed fist holding his T-shirt beneath his chin. As if by instinct, Leon threw up his arms, declaring surrender before a threat was offered.

"Back off," growled Chris.

From this angle, the three inches the veteran S.T.A.R.S. officer had on him were strikingly evident, as was the strength hidden by deceptively small muscles in proportion. There was no possible way that he could wiggle out of the hold, not without choking himself on a bruised fist.

"Calm down," he advised, startled by how calm his own voice appeared. While he had not yet witnessed Chris's anger cranked up to ten, he had bore the brunt of Claire's once in the past and often wondered just how he had walked away from her with every limb still attached.

But behind the carnal rage that burned in the blue irises of his captor, Leon could see that it was not anger that drove him to violence. Though he called himself presumptuous, there was a distinct glint of something woeful, something that anger had been brought forth to disguise. Then it hit him.

'She told him,' he realised, heart sinking fast. It was the only explanation; she had opened up and he had reacted just as she had feared he would. With this in mind, he was forced to fight the urge to lash out, to condemn his friend for his selfishness. He hated to think of what state she must have been in; torn up while he stormed around the base feeling sorry for himself, angry at what he had lost. Leon felt that he ought to knock some sense into the man, to teach him what was important.

'Perhaps it's Claire?' Chris had always been suspicious of his intentions with his younger sister, had even given him the 'if you hurt her, I will kill you' lecture the day they were introduced. He was so sure that he had succeeded in persuading him that he held no such intentions.

But did he? Even he was not sure anymore.

"Stay the hell away from her," Chris warned, drawing close to utter the threat before finally releasing his grip and continuing on his journey, sure of the fact that he would not be followed.

Leon remained in shock, straightening his T-shirt with trembling hands. Stay away from her?

That was one thing he could not do.

* * *

_**August 21, 2003. 5:00pm. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas.**_

Chris had always preferred the familiarity of anger. It was pure, unrelenting and accepted no compromise; he could deal with that. He embraced anger, allowed it to flow through his veins while he drew strength from its power, waiting for it to disperse and hoping that the casualties remained minimal.

Pain was another matter completely. Physical pain was no trouble; he had dealt with enough of it in his time to develop a respectable tolerance. But physical pain could be cured. It was emotional, psychological pain that crippled him, that tore him apart one strip of flesh at a time. There was no escaping this dimension of pain, no cure for infliction.

He had little experience in dealing with emotional pain, having been too afraid to open his heart enough to expose it to such a hazard. Too many relationships had wounded him. In the end, relationships without attachment were all that he could tolerate. One night stands and an exaggerated reputation meant that women only sought him for one thing, and he was happy with this arrangement; what man would not be? Countless beautiful, vapid women were willing to not commit with him. And then Jill had entered his life. This one woman, so strong and self-confident; so beautiful and yet so dangerous. Their friendship had blossomed from a bed of arguments, and soon she had soared past the male friends he had gathered over the years to the vacant position of best friend. She had supported him through two failed relationships before he recognised that his feelings for her had surpassed mere friendship.

Because the unthinkable had happened; Chris Redfield had fallen in love. He had not reacted, had kept it a well-guarded secret and tried to shun the attraction to the woman who plagued his thoughts night and day. But as fate would have it, rather than guard his heart from the pain it only exposed him to more.

But his thoughts always drifted to wise words from his father, words he had thought absurd at the time.

_"If it doesn't hurt, son, it isn't love. You'll want to let go but you can't. It's rough going, but once you make peace with it you'll find something wonderful."_

Of course, he was only eleven years old at the time and emerging from what he had assumed at the time to be a broken heart. His father had known that it was a simple childhood crush, but had frightened the poor boy with his admittedly accurate description of what he had eventually found with Jill.

Many hours had passed since their last 'conversation', and too much of that time had been spent feeling sorry for himself. It mattered not if Jill's words were true or if she had been lying; he would fight, and he would not give up. His mother had always told him to fight for what he believed in and for what he desired. He had spent far too many years just watching things slip through his fingers. He would not let the one perfect thing in his life drift away.

He found her alone in the cafeteria, exactly where he had expected her to be. She picked at her salad, evidently not impressed with what she had been served. Deep in thought, she rested her chin on one hand and frowned lightly at a single leaf of lettuce that dangled from her fork. Nerves seized him, but he cast them aside. He was finally calm, resolute and he would not leave until he was certain of where they stood.

She jumped when he spoke her name, falling into the chair opposite hers. Her reaction at least satisfied some part of him; afraid, guilt-ridden and a little lost.

"Jill, I need to talk to you," he spoke, hoping that his voice was not the plea he assumed it to be. "You don't have to say anything; I just want you to hear me out."

He reached across the table for her hands, pleased to find that she did not pull them from his light grip. Her reply was a simple nod, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth as she fought to look him in the eye.

It was here that he noticed the first difference; she was rarely quick to drop anger, yet here she was, as nervous as she had been in days of late. He did not know whether to worry or to rejoice, but found that concern came naturally.

Strange, it seemed that his voice was not capable of speaking the words he had rehearsed.

"I love you," he told her quietly. It was doubtlessly better to get the most important point out into the open first. "Nothing will ever change that. I know that something has upset you and I do want to help you, but I respect that you want to deal with this alone. But I will not walk away from us, Jill. I know that is what you are searching for, but I will fight to the bitter end for you and that is what I intend to do."

Something faltered in her expression, but her eyelids swooped down and when her blue irises were revealed a moment later, there were once again too many emotions for him to discern just one. But her hands slid from beneath his and she rested her weight on the back of the cheap plastic chair, unshed tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.

"Every man would leave his girl for something," she breathed. "What would your reason be?"

He was shocked by her question but had told himself before seeking her out that he would answer all that she asked honestly.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Infidelity, perhaps. Mind games. But I don't know anymore. Everything is so different with you; I'm willing to take a lot more than I should."

"What if I told you that I don't ever want to live with you?" she asked, playing on an existing fear. "What if I told you that I don't want to marry or have children? What if what we have now is all you will ever get? What if I can't guarantee it will last, or that I will always be here? Would that be enough for you? Would you gamble your life on something so uncertain?"

One by one, she had shot down all that he had seen in their future. The house they bought with hard-earned money, gone. The wedding he would spend every cent of their remaining money on, gone. The children they would raise lovingly, gone. Jill, gone.

What if her point was not hypothetical? What if there was nothing in their future but each other? He wanted a family, he wanted a future. But he also wanted her. It was a simple case of which he desired most.

"Yes," he answered, allowing his heart to take this one. "For any other girl, probably not. But for you...always."

And then they fell, tears that soaked through her napkin in a matter of seconds. Unwanted attention drifted from nearby tables, but he could not find it in him to care. He reached up for all that was available to touch, gripping her upper arms reassuringly. She would not move to allow an embrace, or to accept the comfort he was ready, willing and able to offer.

"Chris, I'm sorry," she sobbed, reaching at last for his hand. Ultimately, he feared the worst. Why did she apologise? Why did she cry?

"I want all that," she whispered longingly. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault..."

And suddenly, everything clicked into place. A problem that was her doing, a shattered future, the search for a reason to break up... She did not want to leave him, but her constant pushing seemed to be designed to force him into packing his bags. It was guilt, that was the only reasonable explanation for her actions.

"Is there someone else?" he asked. His heart broke even with the suggestion of the idea. It had been his initial belief, though now it did not seem so absurd.

"What?" she gasped as she pulled back in disgust.

It all made perfect sense. She had fallen for someone else, and her medical had revealed a secret that pained her to keep. Pregnancy, perhaps? The though almost killed him. They had always been careful, had used condoms more often than not. If she was pregnant, it made sense that he was not the father, and perhaps she too knew this.

"How could you-" her words were choked away by a vehement sob. "How dare you!"

Her rebuttal was doubtlessly genuine, yet it was the only reason that made sense to him.

"I saw you with Leon," he revealed, still not sure of what exactly he had seen.

"What?" she spluttered. Her expression then fell as the memory returned. "Oh God, that was innocent! He's a friend, that's all."

"Then maybe you should stop working with him," he suggested, jealousy seizing control. It was perhaps a small consolation that he could no longer feel his heart rotting within his chest. Superficial emotions were quite often childish, but always the easier option.

"Don't put our relationship above work," she snarled. "That is my_ one_ reason!"

'You know you're wrong. What happened to fighting for her? Drop it, you're doing yourself no favours.'

"Is this why you've been acting like a complete dick around him?" she asked, voice simmering down but still close to emotional overflow. "Don't take you anger with me out on our friend!"

"_My_ anger?" he fought back. "You still haven't answered my question."

All of the calm he had gathered over the hours apart evaporated, and suddenly he was a picture far different than that painted by his earlier words. In one swift motion, she was on her feet, jacket slung over her arm.

"No, Chris," she pressed, a sliver of hurt evident in her words. "I am not having sex with Leon, or with anyone else. And guess what? That includes you for the time being. If you would just open your eyes you would see that he likes Claire, not me."

As she walked away, he reeled from her words. There were too many blows dealt, how could he possibly make sense of any of them?

It was his one chance, his last chance to prove to her... What, exactly? What had he hoped to prove? All he had succeeded in proving was that he was an ass. A few words and he now owed a thousand apologies...not all of them to Jill.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Claire asked, snapping him from his reverie.

"Uh...yeah," he mumbled, blushing a little as he realised his gaze had been upon her lips for at least the last five minutes. There was too much on his mind for him to allow it to wander.

"Leon," she warned. "Honesty?"

He frowned, not particularly wishing to divulge the events of that day. Chris was struggling through a battle as it was, there was no need for it to escalate into an outright war.

"I just...had the strangest day," he laughed, musing over all that he still could not quite understand.

"Tell me about it," she groaned, thankfully dropping her concern. "I spent most of the day running through basic set-up with Donny Miller. The guy is clueless, Leon. Either that or he's plain ignorant. Where do you find these people?"

Leon laughed internally. They were all unprepared; she could hardly blame the individual. But they were a motley crew, with the most experienced of agents involved in activities that drew them away from the mission. Jones was perhaps the most experienced and dedicated - with the obvious exception of Chris, Jill and himself - and though Tessa boasted an impressive résumé, her expertise in the field she had opted to be assigned to was somewhat lacking. Then there was Daniel DeChant, a recent transfer from the Marine Corps. That was not even half the team.

"Why were you running through anything with Miller?" he asked, suddenly curious. "Come to think of it, you still haven't explained why you're here."

She smiled secretively, seeming to derive great pleasure in the knowledge that she had succeeded in stealth for once in her life.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased further, to which he raised an eyebrow. "The WHO is interested in this mission, what with all the rumours of viral experimentation. Which is also why the CDC are keeping an eye on the operation, but that is beside the point. They want someone to report back on everything that happens, almost happens or probably shouldn't have happened. So, they contacted Terra Save and asked for me. I suppose it has something to do with my last name. I figured it would give me a chance to see old friends so how could I refuse?"

Her play on the words 'old friends' was suspicious, and at that moment she averted her eyes from his. Was she _embarrassed_? Of course not; Claire Redfield did not know the meaning of the word.

"I never did congratulate you on your new job," he smiled as he nervously picked at his food. "I'm proud of you. It's good to see that you're moving up in the world."

Her smile was genuine as she accepted his congratulations. Leon was not sure what to make of this, but returned it with one of his own.

"I've been toying with the idea of going back to college," she revealed out of the blue. "I don't have much more to do; I could graduate in a year."

Leon had never heard a better idea fall from her lips. He had known how much college had meant to her when they had first met; it was her one way out of the fostering home of her aunt and uncle and a step closer to the independence she had inevitably gained through more disturbing means.

"You should," he encouraged. "I think that's a great idea."

She nodded gratefully, falling back into awkward silence. Suddenly, the abundance of words he had found to speak to her had vanished, leaving him with a twisted tongue and not a single thought in his head.

Chris's words had brought down an unexpected emotion. It could not quite be described, other than the strong notion that something was unfair and inconveniently hurtful. Chris had always been protective over his younger sister, but Leon had thought himself a trusted friend. Perhaps he had been spending a little too much time with her, but he enjoyed her company immensely and was sure that she returned the sentiment. Why then had he been ordered to avoid her?

He raised his head to allow himself to take in each and every one of her features; from the dark auburn hair that accentuated the pale tone of her skin, to the eyes that could have been her brother's and the lips that bore more similarities to Jill's. She was beautiful, that much he knew. But attractive to him?

His mind drifted then to the less physical aspects of her being, to the heart that loved all it saw and the mind that did not judge as others did. She fought for her beliefs with a vibrant tenacity, and once her mind was set on a task there was no sidetracking her. Claire simply did not work the way others did; she claimed selfishness when her actions screamed the opposite. She would give her life for those she loved without a second thought and though hot-headed, she was one of the kindest individuals he knew.

'Perhaps Chris does have reason to worry?'

He was in no position to consider romantic feelings. His job was his life and he knew that was unlikely to change for a long time. Then there was _her_.

Though he continuously told himself that she lived, part of him hoped that she had not survived Raccoon City. Had he loved her? Perhaps. But love was a funny emotion, and it could not always be honoured. She was unattainable to him and maybe therein the attraction lay. To him, she was a chain, binding him to the past. No matter how hard he tried to escape her memory, she was there and she haunted him with her smile. A demon in disguise or a star-crossed lover? He doubted that he would ever know.

Claire claimed that she was married to her job, but he was married to a memory.

In retrospect, perhaps Chris' warning had been a Godsend? He was unlucky in love, and all he had to offer was pain and regret.

She deserved more than that.

* * *

_**August 21, 2003. 6:04pm. Location unknown.**_

Mike was growing increasingly impatient with his employers. Who the hell did this guy think he was? A hypochondriac, no doubt. Why else would he have locked down the base upon arrival? His presence was superfluous; a formality at best.

He should have been home by now, should have been playing with his son for the first time in weeks.

His fingers slid over the cool plastic of the internal phone, and he furiously punched in the external line connection code. Nothing was going to plan, and he did not like the unexpected.

"We apologise, but we are unable to connect your call at this time."

The mechanical voice repeated its assurance, pushing his anger further and further to breaking point. He slammed the handset back into the wall and stormed through the corridors with clenched fists. Someone had a lot to answer to.

The laboratory levels were surprisingly empty that night, though it was to be expected. Many workers had taken ill and found themselves confined to the habitation level. It was one of the many reasons he despised living in such close quarters; if a worker clocked in with the 'flu the whole base would be ill by the end of the week.

"Henderson!" he called out, catching sight of his superior at a security station.

"Norton, I don't have time for this," Henderson sighed, sensing what his words would be. Evidently he had been worked to the bone by this sudden epidemic and the badly-timed arrival of the Major.

"Why the hell can't I get an outside line?" Mike demanded. "My wife was expecting me to be home tonight, and I can't connect or get a damn signal on my cell."

"Simmer down," he was ordered. "Major's orders. This guy is neurotic; has a list of demands to rival a rock star. I guess he has trust issues so we're on complete lockdown for the next seventy-two hours."

Mike was forced to bite his tongue, lest he utter words that would ensure severance. He had yet to meet this important figure yet already harboured a large amount of resentment for the man.

"We're all getting paid a large bonus for this," his superior reminded him. "It's a small inconvenience for a hell of a vacation."

Mike doubted that Henderson was aware of what a 'small inconvenience' was. He had not intended to be on base during the Major's tenure; he knew what was coming and knew that he needed to leave before it arrived.

The security guard at the desk coughed violently, drawing phlegm up his throat before emptying the contents of his mouth into a nearby waste casket. Mike stepped backwards, not wanting to catch what had been going around. His wife was due soon; he did not want to risk missing the birth.

The guard looked a picture of illness; skin paler than the paint on the walls, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Surely he should not have been working? Then, he fell, tumbling from his chair without a hint of a struggle to remain upright. Henderson fell at his side, shouting for a medic. The man's eyes rolled back into his skull, foam visible at the corner of his mouth.

But then Mike's eyes fell to his arms, to the welts that had been carved into his skin. He had seen them many times before, had watched as his colleagues had literally peeled skin from muscle.

Something was not right, something had begun. Twenty-four hours was all he had, but somehow he knew that he would not see the storm.

* * *

_**August 21, 2003. 7:21pm. El Paso, Texas.**_

Jill did not like the silence of the hotel room. She was so sure that he would be there, but alas he was not.

'Do you really want to speak to him?' she asked herself. 'He accused you of being unfaithful.'

She could not find it in her to feel anger towards him for this. After all, she had hurt him and perhaps this was his way of retaliating? He was the jealous type, and she knew it. Though he trusted her, sometimes she unintentionally gave him reason not to and she feared that this was one of those occasions.

_"For you...always."_

His words still echoed in her mind, cranking guilt to unprecedented levels. It terrified her to consider the depths his admission had touched upon, to acknowledge that her own feelings ran as deep and that this was likely the last relationship either of them would enter. Of course, she had known this all along, but had never been presented with proof.

She did not know what she was afraid of, but past experience had led her to be wary.

'But whose feelings am I trying to protect?'

She heard the key card enter the lock before the door opened and he stepped inside, his sheepish expression no doubt mirroring her own. It was not a case of who would apologise, rather a case of who would apologise first.

But neither spoke. Instead, she allowed him to come to her and fell into his arms when he offered a submissive kiss. It was clear that his feelings matched her own, and once again the words reverberated in her mind and tears fell.

All that she had feared was a lie; he did not care about what she could offer, only about _her_. Her secret had placed an agonising weight on her chest and despite her efforts to the contrary, she did not want to watch as it forced their relationship to fail, especially when it need not be that way. What was there left to do but come clean and hope it was not enough to drive him away?

"I don't think I've ever seen you cry so much," he laughed lightly as he wiped moisture from her cheeks. She knew from this jest that he understood her tears were not entirely of pain. "I wish you didn't have to. I'm sorry for what I said. I know you're not with anybody else and I do trust you."

She smiled appreciatively.

'Tell him,' her heart urged. 'There will never be a moment as perfect as this one.'

"I want to help you," he reiterated. "I hope you know that."

"I love you," she offered as an alternative, but knew that it would not be enough.

He sighed mournfully and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Then what is the problem?" he asked. "I love you and I am happy. I want you to be too."

Suddenly, she could not look at him. Did either of them knew what 'happy' meant anymore? So many words had changed their meaning over the years, more still losing it entirely. Could they ever be happy? Would they ever have more than half a life between them?

"I know it's the medical," he sighed. "I don't know what they said to you but it can't possibly be as bad as you think."

She drew a deep breath, knowing that this was the moment she had been dreading ever since the doctor spoke those words. If he walked out of that room without an answer, she could not say if he would return.

"What you said earlier," she breathed. "Did you mean it?"

He thought for a long moment, perhaps trying to pinpoint a single utterance that she could have been referring to.

"That I could live with uncertainty?" he replied. "Yes. I don't care what happens in my future as long as it involves you. It terrifies me to admit that but it's the truth."

Honesty. He was a terrible liar, and she could not find a single fault in his words.

"But you said that you wanted the same things," he pointed out with a smile, maintaining the distance she had placed between them perhaps out of respect. "We love each other; why not have those things together?"

Again, her breath caught in her throat. She shuddered from a sudden chill and brought her arms to her chest, pacing a small circle until all air was expelled from her lungs and new refused to enter.

Bile rose in her throat, words held down by the pleading child within. Speech had never eluded her. But she could see the happiness in his eyes, the hope that he had found in her previous admission.

As she opened her mouth to speak the words, she was sure she would vomit. Her chest was a cage and she could not find a way to release that which had been so tightly restrained.

'Speak.'

And then, courage appeared for a split-second, but that was all that was needed. Her blood ran cold, throat threatened to close and uncertainty seized the very heart of her. The wound was still too raw, the pain too real. It was admission that shook her, that would bring reality closer than she had allowed it to be. In the midst of the fear, four words materialised and suddenly there was no turning back.

"I can't have children."

**AN - Please review :)**


	6. You Look So Good in Blue

**AN** - I thought this would be the longest chapter yet but damn, I didn't quite make it. I didn't actually check the word count on this one until near the end and was surprised to see how much I'd written. Anyway, this is the last chapter before the mission ^_-. As a result, I experimented with a little something that I hope worked out. The last part of the chapter was quite difficult to write, especially concluding it all. I would also like to apologise on Jill's behalf; I wanted to slap her myself at one point, but I think I've finally brought their relationship to the point where I want it to be right now (if you want to speculate on that, feel free...I'd like to see if I've got it right or totally missed the mark ^_^).  
Chapter title is from 'Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner' by Fall Out Boy.

A humongous thank you again goes out to all you wonderful reviewers: _Ninja-Gnome, namine redfield, Sparkle Valentine, Razial, katninja, tek, Ivilith, Anonymous, pk123db456, Kenshin13, Keybladem, xSummonerYunax_ and _xwittychickx_. I'm trying to get back to as many of you as possible, but time constraints are unfortunately still an issue at the moment. But I will try my best!

* * *

**Blindside**

**_Chapter Five _**_- You Look So Good in Blue_

-+-

_"Wear me like a locket around your throat,  
I'll weigh you down, I'll watch you choke."_

-+-

**_August 21, 2003. 7:40pm. El Paso, Texas._**

"I can't have children."

Her own voice echoed in her ears and she choked on the bitterness of her words. Speaking it aloud seemed so certain, as though she were admitting a horrifying truth. Speaking it aloud in front of Chris pushed the boundaries of emotional tolerance.

She could see the bombshell sink in, could see the pain rise in his eyes. Many unspoken questions lingered on his fallen expression, denial apparent in every word he did not speak.

"I can't ever..." she began, reassuring her point perhaps for her own benefit. But words were stolen from her, her voice catching in her throat as her heart realised the damage it had done and retreated from the domain of control.

She reached a hand to her mouth in an attempt to cover a woeful sob that was drawn from the pit of her stomach. Her admission hit her as a painful reminder. Somehow, she felt less of a woman, less worthy of his affection than she had previously. This dreadful secret had been hers for five years; it was not recent, should not sting like a recently-inflicted wound. But this was the infection, the fallout of a decision she had not anticipated having such dire consequences. She ached for her loss and did not quite know how to express such dark emotions.

Her whole body ached from the pressure that built in her chest; she was so sure that she would collapse. But then warmth found her, and she was held possessively in comfort, little room for air in his close embrace. She found that the tears fell harder now, that her sobs were uncontrolled. Whatever comfort he offered, she took and she felt his reaction in the pressure he applied; he was scared. Though almost painful, his embrace was tender and she could feel words unspoken. He clung to her as though she would slip away if he did not hold on for dear life, so that her arms could not move to reciprocate his embrace.

Why then was she still so afraid of his reaction?

"God, Jill," he breathed into her hair, not once relinquishing his grip. He seemed more determined to hold on to her than she to him, crushing her with strength he often underestimated.

When he pulled back, it was to wipe tears from beneath her eyes; an act that was rendered useless when fresh moisture fell onto his thumb.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, his voice gentle and kind in a way it had never been before. "What did they say?"

She was reluctant to reveal, for she could sense the hurt that her words had inflicted; the news had affected him as much as it had affected her.

But she had come this far, what harm would one step further be?

"The vaccine Carlos gave me in Raccoon…it didn't cure me, it…deactivated the virus or something," she sniffled after a deep breath. "It wasn't a cure…"

And a second wave of pain swept through her. The thought of succumbing to infection once again brought suicidal thoughts to mind. Anything would be better than that hell. And Chris? Could she subject him to a show to rival the most sickening horror movie? The virus reports had toned down the macabre, had not mentioned the most agonising aspects of infection. You did not simply turn, did not suddenly snap to a carnivorous state of mind; you rotted away.

"What?" he demanded sharply, offering reaction when she had all intention of continuing to speak. He was as horrified as she had been when the doctor had broken the news. "You're still infected?"

He grasped her arms suddenly, as though afraid that something horrific would befall her if he let go, as though by asserting his possessiveness he could chase the evil away.

"No," she laughed sombrely, continuing to chase back tears with quiet sniffles. It was a small consolation. "I'm not even a carrier. The virus is still in my system, but it's dormant, it's… They said they haven't seen anything like this before. They spent most of the week analysing my blood, and took a second sample at the check-up. It's…it can't be transferred via blood or saliva or…other bodily fluids; that's the only reason they passed me. They said I'm not an 'immediate danger'. I don't know why, he said something about white blood cells and the virus being 'inactive'. But if I fall pregnant…"

She knew that she needed to continue but did not feel that she could. She would rather have been told that she was infertile, at least then she would have closure. To know that she could conceive but would face a whole new breed of horror if she did…it was nothing short of torture.

"They said the T-virus would bond with the baby's DNA and…" she drifted off, the truth too unbearable to consider. But the words found her and she spoke them before they danced away. "I'd give birth to a tyrant. _If_ I survived the pregnancy…they said it was possible we both would die before the end of the second trimester; at the very least I would not survive childbirth. I'd forfeit my life for a monster."

Suddenly, she was back in his arms, surprised to find that it was not her body that trembled.

"But you're going to be okay, right?" he asked, voice quaking with what she could only describe as fear.

Jill was confused. She had thought that the knowledge he would never be a father if he remained with her would elicit a powerful reaction, but it was the knowledge that a hidden evil lurked beneath her skin that concerned him deeply.

"I don't know," she admitted, voice muffled by his shirt. "They said that due to the nature of the immobilisation it is unlikely that it will resurface, but it remains a possibility. Something could trigger it, something…"

The scent of him suddenly became too much and she could no longer find reason to continue to speak. He had never held her so tightly, so _fearfully_. Insecurities glared at her from his posture and from his silence, but she did not think any less of him for them. If anything, she thought even more. That he could display them so openly before her spoke volumes.

There was nothing that she could do but cry out the rest of her tears on into his chest and wait for his arms to free her. But deep down, something told her that would never happen.

'He was telling the truth,' she told herself, smiling outwardly at this realisation. 'He cares about you, deeply. You're not the only one to love this much.'

"Did you think that I would leave you because of this?" he asked, finally pulling away, though his arms remained around her. Hurt reflected in his eyes as he considered this, and shame seeped into her heart.

Had she truly believed that he would?

"I don't know," she breathed. "I don't know what I thought. But you want children, Chris, and I can't..."

She knew that feminists the world over would be screaming her name as a curse. Ten years ago, she would have done the same. The idea of giving birth had scared the hell out of her, and she saw no reason why she should have to go through such a level of pain to please a man; if he loved her, he would love her regardless. But as she had grown and relationships had taken on a new dimension she realised that she quite liked the idea of settling down one day with a man who made her happy and children they would raise together. It was something she had always taken for granted; something she assumed would always be there.

She had not realised how important this seemingly simple ability was to her until it was suddenly gone.

"I know how important family is to you, and you...you will never have that with me."

If she had not known better, she would have thought that her words had hurt him, that his expression was one of shock and horror.

"Jill, don't-" he warned, voice breaking. His composure faltered, and he relinquished his hold on her, gently shaking his head as though emotions would detach like droplets of water from his hair. "I'll have _you_. That is more than I could ever ask for."

He raised his fingers to her hair, pushing tear-stained strands from her cheeks. His lips then found her cheekbone, placing a tender kiss on the damp skin. She could sense how close to tears he had come, and somehow this saddened her more. He had always been there for her, had always gave her what she wanted in abundance and then a little more. Even now, he was here, silently promising her that all would be okay. She could not even promise him a future.

"Is this why you were so insistent on the condom?" he asked.

"Yes," she exhaled. "But not- I guess I was scared that they were wrong. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then stop presuming to know how I feel," he whispered with a smile on his lips. "I love you, Jill Valentine. If you sprouted horns and started speaking in limericks, that would not change."

She laughed at this euphemism, knowing that it was just like him to say something so corny in such a tender moment. But it had worked; the anxiety she had felt just half an hour earlier had evaporated.

"I want children," he told her. "I do, but if I have to lose you for that to be possible, it's far too high a price to pay. If I can't be a father to your children, I don't want to be a father at all. Besides, take a look at me…I'd need your genes to balance all this out."

She snorted involuntarily with laughter, failing to understand that this was his intention; humour appeared to have worked, and so he was sticking with it. She was forced to bury her face in his neck to stifle her giggles, made worse when he pretended to be offended at the apparent hilarity of what he perceived to be truth.

But through it all she felt an overwhelming sense of love and hope. The greatest issue she had with herself was not an issue at all to him.

"I want children, too," she sighed when the laughter subsided, and once again pain began to flare in her chest. "_Wanted_; past tense."

"You still can," he pointed out. "We can adopt. You would be a great mother, Jill. You would make any child extremely lucky."

Her heart fluttered. 'We'. Not 'you'…_'we'_. When he looked into her future, he saw himself.

"I always thought it would be wonderful to be pregnant," she sighed. "My aunt told me I was crazy…"

"You are," he laughed, though she could tell at this point that he was playing up the humour to the point of a façade. "You really don't need any more weight on that ass."

And suddenly, amused offence was taken.

"Cheeky!" she scolded, but failed to stifle a quiet laugh. "You've never complained about my ass before."

His lips fell to her neck, teasing the skin gently. Defence mechanism number two: sex.

"Exactly," he purred.

"Chris…" she gasped, pushing him away before he went too far. "Are you truly okay with this? I have to know."

In an instant, everything changed. The mask he had pulled over his pain fell away and exposed the ugliness to the world. Darkness fell back into his eyes and the frown that had previously been of concern melted to anger.

"No, I'm not okay with it," he admitted furiously, surprising her with his honesty. Anxiety rushed back, fear and the overwhelming urge to bawl chasing its heels. "I'm not okay with you feeling like this, I'm not okay with the fact that you're still suffering for their mistakes."

He reached his hands up to her cheeks, making sure that her eyes met his as he spoke.

"I'm not okay with the knowledge that you could wake up one day and be forced to suffer through infection again," he continued, voice softer now, and laden with the sound of tears that he kept from his eyes. "That you could die and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it. But Jill, if the T-virus consumed you next week I'd be glad that I got to spend this time with you. There may be a cure one day, don't forget that; don't give up hope."

His eyelids swooped downwards, likely as another preventative measure.

"I can't lose you, Jill," he lamented. "I just can't."

And then she knew that his anger had not been directed at her, rather at those that had put her in this position. He had not held her so tightly because he was seeking comfort for his loss; he held her for _her_ comfort, knowing the pain she had felt.

She raised a hand to his cheek, brushing over stubble that had become delightfully familiar. Her thumb gently traced his lips and she witnessed that familiar glaze fall into his eyes.

"You're not going to," she assured him.

How could she have been so stupid as to believe that he would not stand by her?

She was left with no time to dwell on the matter, feeling his lips at last capture hers. Somehow, he tasted different. Then it dawned on her; there was not a hint of tobacco on his tongue. No longer coarse, he tasted clean, fresh…exotic. Something lured her in, forcing her to deepen the kiss so that she could experience all he had to offer. She had barely noticed that he had lifted her onto the bed, hands exploring the skin beneath her BSAA-issue polo.

His stubble was rough against her jaw, raspy friction adding to the plethora of sensations that rained down upon her. He kissed softly down her jaw line and onto her neck, a delightful trail carved by the short hairs on his chin. She could not quite discern what position her body was in, surprised when her back touched gently to the mattress as his lips dipped for her clavicle, continuing their journey as far as the opening in her polo would allow.

And suddenly, there was no doubt, and the confusion that lingered was held at bay by something more tolerable. She did not know what she would do, still did not quite know how to deal with the unpleasant reality and circling confusion. But for now, he offered to lick her wounds, for however long the balm would last. She knew that he could, and found no resistance within her.

For now, nothing else mattered.

* * *

Claire had been mulling the information for hours. The lines of communication were somewhat slow between her current position and head office; she was at least twenty-four hours behind on updates.

Her cell phone remained clasped beneath her chin, lips pursed as she analysed her patterns of thought, concluding finally that it mattered not if it were possible; the potential damage outweighed the consequences of it being a ruse.

But who to turn to? Chris was AWOL, Leon nowhere to be found, and she knew that the higher representatives would likely dismiss it as unreliable Intel.

She began to haunt the hallways of the base, hoping that at least someone remained awake. They had all been ordered to retreat for an early night in the hope that a final training session could be arranged before the mission the next day.

Jones had likely clocked out early – she worked too hard for her own good – and Newburn was a simple medic with little influence on the teams.

A sharp clunk in a room down the hallway caught her attention and she jogged quietly to the source of the noise, peering into the room before announcing her presence.

The rookie – Donny, was it? – scooped a handful of papers onto his arm, cursing as he placed them all on an in-tray he retrieved from the dusty floor. He seemed not to know what went where, randomly assigning papers to each tier.

Miller was another recruit who had signed out early that evening; she had seen his signature with his own eyes.

"Why are you still here?" she asked, completely oblivious to the nature of the rookie. In an instant, he both jumped and turned at the same time, a flailing arm catching the in-tray and sending it to the floor once again.

"Miss Redfield," he gasped, breathing a sigh of relief. "You shouldn't be here."

Though annoyed at the reminder, she pursed her lips and nodded to the fallen papers.

"You looking for something?" she asked, to which the young recruit shook his head.

"I'm a little clumsy," he laughed nervously, once again stooping to collect the fallen memos.

She watched eagerly as he shoved them all onto one tier this time, hurrying past her before she could probe further.

Naturally, curiosity overcame the redhead and she strode over to the in-tray, leafing through its contents in a manner that could hardly be called subtle. It was general paperwork, nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, the BSAA would hardly be stupid enough to leave important memos where anyone could read them.

She shrugged off her curiosity and continued down the hallway, the whir of a printer now echoing down the hallway. The sound unnerved her slightly, echoes of the past flickering to life around her. She had not previously realised how much the faded green paint and cracked skirting boards reminded her of the old Raccoon precinct.

She tuned out the echoes, rushing for the safety of an occupied room.

"Evening, Miss Redfield," greeted the bald officer, barely looking up from recently-printed pages. "Looking for your brother?"

"DeChant, right?" she asked. She made a mental note to memorise the names and faces of the team. "I'm actually looking for…someone."

He raised his eyes to her, displaying mild, passing interest in information she doubtlessly had to present.

"You know Donny Miller, right? I ran into him before…he seemed a little skittish."

DeChant laughed softly and slipped the papers into a manila folder, turning to politely face her while she engaged him in conversation.

"Can't say you'll find many of us that aren't," he chuckled, showing not a single sign of aforementioned skittishness. "We're all nervous, Claire, but we all know what we're doing. Ain't no amateurs here."

He appeared so confident, so assured. Perhaps Terra Save had been overstating things? They did have a tendency to overreact.

Having said that, would it be worth the risk?

"Are you aware that Terra Save has a contact within the facility you are about to attack?"

DeChant ceased shuffling the papers, now devoting every ounce of attention to her words.

"I was told," he clarified. "Thought it was us, not Terra Save."

Claire laughed.

"Give us some credit," she smiled. "They believe that suspicion is rising around the BSAA's presence in El Paso. The Major's plans have changed drastically over the past few days and he is becoming concerned that there may be a leak in your department; a traitor, double agent, whatever way you want to put it. Granted, this is not one hundred percent reliable, but he has a good eye for detail. He has not been wrong many times before."

"But he _has_ been wrong?" DeChant asked, sighing deeply. "Listen, Claire, every recruit was put under extreme scrutiny during the application process; even the original eleven were heavily vetted. It's nigh on impossible for someone to have made it through with harmful intentions. Trust me on that one."

She had thought of this, but something still did not sit well with her. She could not quite place her finger on it, but something was out of place. It was not enough to elicit fear for her brother and her friends – she knew they were more than capable of taking care of themselves – but it was enough to cause concern.

"Just be careful," she urged. "And tell the others to keep an eye out."

* * *

**_August 21, 2003. ?:??. Location unknown._**

"Set up is complete, sir."

"Good," he spoke, fingers clasped around the handle of a mug of coffee that had grown cold in his hands. It was his third cup that day, and likely the third to be cast aside.

"Would you like us to load the specimens now, sir?"

He tore his eyes away from the blueprints, laying them on the nervous guard a moment later. The guard averted his gaze, knowing that the slightest hint of anything negative would be drawn upon and vivisected until he was the one that lay in pieces.

"There will be no need."

"But sir, this is a lot of merchandise. Are you sure you want to-"

"Are you questioning me?"

"N-no, sir…of course not."

And the guard scurried away, relaying the baffling order to the others that waited outside.

There was little need to collect specimens; it was such a small facility, such a pointless load. Important samples had already been collected; what remained was of little interest to him. They were superfluous merchandise, costing more to keep than they would to sell on. Distribute at a base level; that was where the true profit lay.

Of course, it was not the profit, nor the merchandise that interested him on this particular journey.

"We are at level five, sir," spoke a different man, this individual dressed in a white lab coat and medical scrubs. He could not keep track of those sent to assist him. He did not care to, for they were but ants milling around a queen; faceless, expendable drones. The years past had taught him the value of life, and that of humans was worth but pocket change these days.

"_Very_ good," he commended. "Life signs?"

The drone in the lab coat did not need to double-check this information, having rehearsed it a thousand times so as not to make a mistake.

"One or two remain active," he admitted. "I have faith that they will fade soon."

Again, he scurried from view, not wishing to accumulate further tasks and not quite wishing to remain in the presence of danger.

Once again, he was alone. It was exactly how he liked to spend his days; human beings were treacherous, he knew because he was perhaps the most treacherous of them all. He could not trust himself; how could he possibly trust others?

It was easy to understand that a monetary value could be placed on everything from a single pea to the life of the most majestic beast. Life was far simpler when thought of in these terms; it was a transaction, not a gift or a process. Everything was worth something, even life.

'But what of personal matters?'

He smiled to himself. Personal matters were off the record. Because when it turned personal, physical reward was simply a pleasant side-effect. There were too many thorns in his side, and though he had plucked most, two remained wedged beneath the skin. It was wrong of him to let them walk away, but he had been left with no choice. They were far more resilient than he had given them credit for.

When asked for his reasoning, he found that he could give none. They had cramped his style, threatened his operation, had insulted him by walking away. They were _irritating_, like a rash that he could not quite scratch, that bled no matter how he treated it.

They were two flies that had escaped his web. But soon…that would change.

* * *

**_August 21, 2003. 9:00pm. El Paso, Texas._**

His body tingled, the heat of the bed sheets nigh on unbearable but the chill of the air conditioning too cold to shed them completely. Jill curled into his side, her hair spilling onto his skin, head resting on his chest with her hand above his heart. He knew that she could feel it beating, just as he could feel hers against his side. It was racing, her breaths controlled but uneasy, as though she forced her body to return to its normal state but could not quite maintain the façade of serenity.

Waves of fatigue swept over him but he fought each and every one, wanting to remain conscious in this moment. Her eyelashes swept occasionally against his skin and he realised that she was attempting the same. She was rarely tired, quite often interrupting him as he waned in and out of light slumber. It was always he who would collapse against damp sheets and succumb almost immediately to pleasurable dreams. He must have been trying harder than he thought; it was not easy to wear out Jill Valentine in any respect.

Chris exhaled slowly. Of course, his mind had not been where it usually would have been. His desperation was almost shameful, possessiveness reaching almost inappropriate heights. But how was he supposed to react? It was the T-virus that had killed Forest and the others, that had stolen too many years of their lives. Now, it had stolen something precious, and bided its time with the potential to steal her life as it had her hope.

It surprised him how easily he had cast aside the news of her stolen ability. With barely a second to think about the implications, he had decided that it was inconsequential. But still, there was pain there that had not been present before. Fatherhood was not a career he sought at that moment, but it had been a dream for more years than he cared to count. And yet he lay there with the knowledge that it would not be a dream fulfilled, and that it was his own choice to deny himself this. It had been the most difficult but also the easiest decision he had ever been forced to make.

He could not think of a single reason why he would choose children over her. Truth be told, he could not think of a single thing in this world that he would choose over her.

His left arm pulled her tightly into his side, the right then moving across to lay a hand over hers.

If the virus reared its ugly head, he was not sure how he would react. Could he watch her suffer? Could he sit back and do nothing, knowing that nothing _could_ be done? Could he watch doctors euthanize her, saving her from an unnecessarily painful death? Again, he pulled her closer into him, until her breathing altered from the sudden change in pressure. He knew that in some way, he too would die that day. But it was more likely than not that they would never see that day; she was set to live a long, happy life. He knew that he would remain with her for the rest of her days, be that sixty years or six days from now.

'We've only been dating five months,' he reminded himself, but this did not seem to have bearing on where he saw their future heading. He could rarely see two days into the future, let alone sixty years. It was both reassuring and frightening; frightening because he was simply not used to this depth of feeling. All signs pointed to her returning these feelings; she had feared him leaving because of her inability to procreate…evidently she anticipated that children would be in their future.

"You used to tease them when they would say we were attached at the hip," she laughed wearily, her voice low and partially muffled where she turned into his body. "But you seem determined to make that anatomically so."

It was then that he realised her body was at an awkward angle. Previously pressed gently into his side with her left leg wrapped around his, the arm at her waist now virtually held her on his hip, her entire weight resting on this one limb.

Slowly, he lowered her back to her former position with a whispered apology.

She hummed inaudibly against his chest, refusing to tilt her head to an angle that allowed him to measure her expression. That she was hurting affected him deeply; he could not imagine the pain she must have been going through, or the devastation the news must have had on her emotions. After all, he was not the one stranded by his past.

"We didn't use a condom," he noted, desperately searching for some way of reassuring her. How he believed this would work, he did not know. "And look…I'm still human."

This did not seem to reassure her, and she offered not even a quiet laugh.

"I would understand if you walked away," she whispered, no doubt believing that she should offer him an explicit way out.

He tried to ignore her, knowing how absurd the idea was. Even if he found that her admission posed an insurmountable problem, he would not have been so cruel as to simply walk away. His were not the only feelings involved here. They may not have been able to last given these circumstances, but he would support her as a friend.

"I'm not leaving you," he reiterated, once he realised that the annoyance would not fade until he addressed her offer. "I love you."

He kissed the top of her head to reinforce his point, breathing in the sweet scent that lingered on her hair. It was, he noticed, a little longer than it had been on their return from Russia. Was she trying to grow it back out?

"We have to be more careful," she thought aloud. "I don't trust myself."

What could he say? There was no way in hell he would let her fall pregnant, not if the consequences were so dire. There would be little immediate harm if the pregnancy was caught early, but he knew that a termination would be one blow too many. And what if it triggered the virus? Carelessness had never been so costly.

"I think…I should have a hysterectomy," she announced coldly. "Just in case."

Chris just about exploded. The chalk interior of the hotel room suddenly turned a wary shade of orange. She was not thinking straight, was in no position to make such a life changing decision. He pushed himself up into a seated position, causing her to adopt a similar stance in confusion.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scolded. "There may be a cure one day, Jill. What will you do then? Don't throw your options away; you'll only live to regret it."

She did not fall back to his embrace, but instead gaped disbelievingly at him, sheets clutched around her chest.

"I knew it," she gasped, voice betraying the pain that her sudden anger disguised. "Don't hold on to false hope, Chris. I'd rather you walk away."

He did not know how to react to this, so dumbstruck was he by what he had heard.

"You think I'm holding-" he began, the words so absurd that he could not speak them. When he spoke again, his voice was almost a roar. "Did you even listen to a word I said? The only thing I am trying to hold on to here is you, but you are making it extremely difficult! I don't care about children, I don't care about being a father; I care about _you_! I can't just sit back and watch you throw this away."

"There is nothing to throw away!" she countered. "I'm only trying to be safe. All it takes is one mistake, _one_, and then everything changes."

A thousand responses appeared to him. If she did not trust herself to regularly take the pill, there were injections and implants that did not rely on her routine. If she did not trust herself to keep to the promise of never deliberately conceiving in the hope that the doctors were wrong, he would keep her straight. She was only twenty-eight years old; she was far too young to consider such a drastic measure.

"I'm sorry that I can't be-"

"That you can't be what?" he snarled. "What do I have to do to prove to you that it's _you_ I want? Children or no children, future or no future."

Silence edged between them as she considered this, biting her lip as she turned away, tears evidently on the cusp of existence.

"I don't know," she answered at last. "I already know, believe me I do. I feel it, I just…I don't think it's enough. Not for you, not really."

Why did she always presume to know what he wanted when she refused to see just how deeply in love he was? He would have given up everything for her, but he was out of ways to show her. There was nothing more that he could do; talking to her had begun to feel like he was slamming his head against a brick wall.

"I'll get a vasectomy," he offered.

"Don't be ridi-"

"I'm serious," he insisted. "They can be reversed, a hysterectomy is permanent. We will both be in the same boat and you won't have to worry about an accidental pregnancy. I want to be with you, Jill. If this is what it takes to prove that then so be it."

Shame fell into her eyes, but she refused to relent. He could almost see her thought process, could almost hear her tell herself that a vasectomy would prevent him from having children with the woman she apparently saw him leaving her for.

Where had this insecurity come from? Was it the news? Her infection was a source of infrequent nightmares and it would not be taking a step too far to assume that the sudden return of that awful threat had left her shaken. But he was sure that was not all. Surely he could not have saddled her with such worry? He did nothing but shower her with love, often to extremes that surprised him. Was it out of love that she chose to turn away, hoping to save him from a future she did not believe he deserved?

Whatever the reason, he knew that there was no more he could do; he had tried all he could but still it did not seem to be enough. If she left, she left, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop her.

"This is a bad time," she realised, voice trembling almost as much as her hands. "We should talk after the mission."

He did not reach for her as she left the bed and slid into her discarded clothes. What good would it do? He was at a loss, both for words and for actions.

"Please don't give up on us," he quietly pleaded as she neared the door.

And suddenly, his own insecurities were shamefully on display. But he did not care; his pride could take the beating, his heart not so much.

Wordlessly, she left.

* * *

Leon did not know why he remained awake. It was the same the night before any important endeavour; be it nerves or anticipation, something always kept him awake and busy.

Not that sleep had been an option lately. There was too much on his mind, too much that he did not understand. Too often he found himself straying from his assigned tasks; even now, he glanced up to the computer screen only to see that the name his fingers had tapped in did not reflect that on the sheet before him. Several suspected Umbrella sympathisers, yet the name he had unconsciously typed was perhaps the one suspect whose name he had yet to come across.

_Ada__ Wong_.

He did not even know if that was indeed her name. She had lied to him about her purpose, what else had she lied to him about? It would not surprise him if she had lied about her death. Death always left behind a legacy, but Ada appeared to be exempt from this reality. She had disappeared completely, no trace of her to be found. Someone had to be covering her tracks, erasing her existence completely.

He was young when he met her, a rookie in circumstances most veterans would never face. She was an enigma, exotic in everything from appearance to attitude. Attraction melted to the shadow of love, love decayed into mourning, mourning into hope and now…all he wanted were answers. Who was she truly, this woman in red? Had he been just another pawn in her self-serving game?

If she walked through the door at that moment, what would he say? Were there any words?

Footsteps sounded down the corridor and he froze, right forefinger pressed forcefully onto the 'backspace' key. A little way past the doorway, they stopped, paused and then slowly backtracked until he could sense the looming presence of their owner.

"Hey," Claire spoke in confusion, teetering uncertainly on tired legs.

'So much for looming.'

Leon swivelled around in his chair, suddenly not concerned with the work he suspected to be overdue.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" she asked.

"Apparently," he smiled. Why did he smile? It was not his natural smile, more of a quirky smirk that appeared only when she addressed him. He had never been able to replicate this look and was left to the assumption that he looked goofy as hell when pulling it off.

"You okay?" she asked as she took a seat facing him across a small, white table. He did not know if she cared; she was likely just trying to make conversation.

He considered telling her the truth, but knew that no good would come of it. She would tease him, tell him what he felt was love. But he was not so sure. Obsession was not love, and his feelings for Ada certainly tended towards the former.

"What would you do if…you fell for a close friend?" he asked, speaking the words before his brain was aware of the careless lack of security.

The thought had come almost from nowhere, brought on by her sudden presence.

The question seemed to amuse her and she fell into thought for a few short moments.

"It would depend," she answered, humouring him at least. "Two of my friends in high school began dating, then two months later they broke up and I don't think they have spoken since that day. I believe that for a relationship to truly work, you need to learn to be friends as well as lovers. But sometimes the lover can destroy the friend."

He knew that she had a very good point. But he did not know how to be friends with a prospective lover; if he was not immediately attracted to a woman, it was unlikely that he ever would be. Likewise, he found it difficult to be just friends with a woman he found attractive. Perhaps that was the price of falling for women for largely physical reasons. He had no time for relationships; casual dating was all he had.

'Then what is Claire?' he found himself asking. He could think of no answer. Circumstances had not allowed for friendship or attraction to develop between them. He was unsure how their relationship had progressed, only that he looked up one day and found that they were friends.

"But take a look at Chris and Jill," she laughed. "They were both best friends and worst enemies but you can tell just by looking at them that they are meant to be together."

And that was it; the element of yin and yang. Fiery, hot-headed and temperamental met cool, calm and collected. She doused his flames and he ignited her passion. He was the dragon to her phoenix; masculine fury to feminine grace. The bird tamed the beast and in return he taught it how to fly. Despite the balance, both were beings of fire; it was natural, perhaps even healthy, for sparks to fly every now and then.

Love was more than exchanging of emotions; it was the meeting of minds and of souls, the melding of energy to create something beautiful and powerful. Sometimes it did not make sense, and it could rarely be seen approaching. But when it hit, it did so with force and it changed all that it touched.

"This is about them, isn't it?" she asked when he spoke no words. He nodded in false agreement, letting her believe it was so. "Don't worry, they'll be fine and so will your career. I'd be more concerned if they _weren't_ fighting."

She tried and failed to stifle a yawn, but he could see that her attention had begun to wane before he had the opportunity to engage it fully.

"Go to bed, Claire," he urged. She groaned stubbornly and let her head fall to the desk, pretending to obey his command.

"I'm serious," he laughed. "Tomorrow will be as hectic for you as it is for us."

"I guess so," she groaned as she reached out to innocuously touch his bare arm. It was almost enough for him to wish that he had not fallen into the habit of rolling his sleeves up to the elbow.

"Find me before you leave tomorrow," she requested, rising slowly to her feet. "You look like you need to talk and no offence, but I'm way too tired to give reliable advice right now."

He smiled and assured her that it was alright. Because he knew that he would never reveal to her exactly what it was that played on his mind.

Though he was glad for the release of her exit, he missed the company. Somehow, he did not particularly wish to be alone that night. He followed her footsteps with his ears, pausing hopefully when they came to a stop, and quiet words were exchanged with a voice he could not identify from this distance.

Ada's name had been erased from the screen, and he was dismayed to find that he had lost his place in the list he had been working through.

'Typical,' he groaned inwardly. He possessed neither the energy nor strength of mind to start over, not when so much rested on the events of tomorrow night.

His laptop had barely begun to shut down when there was short knock on the open door.

But it was not Claire that darkened the doorway; it was perhaps the last person he expected to see at this hour, especially given their last encounter.

"Are you busy?" Chris asked.

Leon contemplated claiming that he was. Chris had never intimidated him, had never given him reason to feel uncomfortable in his presence. Yet something about their last meeting had set off alarm bells in his mind, warning him to avoid conversation at all costs. It was not that he was afraid of him, but rather of what he could do. Chris was not a cruel man, but his anger did not have a sense of morality.

"Not really," he settled for; a dubious answer. "Did you want something?"

There was something uncertain about his stance. If there was one thing he had come to expect from Chris Redfield it was assertiveness and an absolute air of authority. There were never any signs of vulnerability or weakness and had he not spent time as the man's friend, Leon would not have known that a softer, emotional side existed. It was all part of the intimidation; if you did not know him you did not want to, but if you took the chance to throw a few words his way you would find that there was nothing to fear so long as you remained on his good side. The enemy feared him but his allies loved and respected him. It was an art that the younger man found nigh on impossible to exact.

Yet here he was, shoulders hunched, tired eyes unsure where to look; it was as though the energy had been sapped from him.

An enquiry into his state of mind was almost sent forth, but it would have been futile. His response would have been the same as it always was.

"I owe you an apology," he sighed, even his voice bearing tones of weariness.

Leon had to lock his jaw to prevent it from dropping to the floor. Drawing an apology from a Redfield had been thought to be a task akin to discovering the meaning of life. Even he had believed that the world would reach an age of enlightenment before Chris or Claire would admit that they were wrong in any way.

So shocked was he that he could not think of a reason for the apology.

"I was…upset earlier, and I should not have taken it out on you," Chris offered when he was met only with silence.

Suddenly, memories came flooding back.

_"Stay away from her."_

"It's okay," he accepted hastily. "But for the record, I hate the fact that you're taller than me. Use that against me again and I may have to kick your ass…well, _try_."

He smiled to show that it was a joke and was relieved when Chris laughed with him. But it was a nervous laugh, and it became clear that an apology was not all he had been trailing behind him.

"Sit down," he offered. If their friendship meant enough to Chris that he could swallow his pride and accept a moment of weakness let alone apologise for actions caused by it, then it meant enough to him to at least hear heartfelt thoughts out.

"Why are you up so late anyway?" he asked once Chris was seated an appropriate distance away.

"Can't sleep," he excused. "Stupid thing; I was lying awake, thinking about everything that is going wrong and suddenly I can't get it out of my head what an ass I've been to you."

"I thought it was contagious. Nobody around here seems to have a high opinion of me; I suppose it's the government ties."

Chris chuckled quietly then furrowed his brow, devoting a large amount of attention to the hands he had placed on the surface of the desk.

Each man waited for the other to speak, reasons for remaining silent running deep. Though Leon tried to ignore the question that burned in the back of his mind, he could not help but consider it. Who was it that provoked such a hostile reaction from the older man? Who was he meant to 'stay away from'?

"I saw you with Jill," Chris spoke, jarring him from his thoughts. Without voicing his confusion, it had been addressed. "Things have been…strained lately. I overreacted and wound up blaming you when you did a good thing."

Though it strangely relieved him to know that Claire had not been the factor of the threat, the knowledge that it was Jill bothered Leon like he had not anticipated it would. It was late, Jill had retired hours ago. There was only one possible explanation for Chris being here.

"It's logical that she told you," Chris breathed, obviously not caring whether or not he was actually taking in his words. "I guess I should say thank you…you're a good friend to her."

Leon was sure that his blood had frozen in his veins. Somehow, he had taken on some of Jill's concern and knew that the news could not have been good. Again, he was torn between violence and reasoning; if he did not understand then she did not deserve him. She was too good for this. Though she was strong, capable and had absolute control over her emotions at the best of times, she was a lot more vulnerable that she would lead people to believe. Especially where Chris was concerned.

She was afraid, even if she did not see this herself. Afraid of being hurt, of ending up alone. Years of emotional separation tended to do that.

"You jackass," he said, without thinking.

Chris looked up suddenly, confused and a slightly angry. It was clear that he was hurting; if he was in a normal state of mind, Leon would no doubt have been unconscious or at least bleeding by now.

"What did you just say?" he asked, anger rising now.

"I said you're a jackass," Leon repeated, a snarl of his own forming. "She loves you! Isn't that enough? Can you even see how badly this has crippled her? She needs you to be there for her, not to-"

Anger settled into shock, Chris's brow furrowing. But all Leon could see was red, and words were no longer his to command. Even his stance had changed, left forearm resting against the table while his right hand began to make furious gestures in the air.

"She deserves better than this! You stupid, selfish, arrogant-"

Then, shock melted into amusement.

"Leon," Chris interrupted. "Are you quite finished?"

Why did his outburst not rile him into fury? It was expected, welcomed even.

Unless…

"Wait…what?"

Chris grimaced as he considered his words, his expression once again settling into one of dubious pain.

"I don't care," he revealed. "I want _her_, not her child. I love her and I wouldn't trade what we have for anything."

Now it was Leon's turn to welcome confusion. If Chris's words were true, he could not see how he was here and not with Jill. She was so afraid of what would happen that his words would likely have sent her into a state of perpetual bliss. Knowing that you will never father a child was devastating news to be delivered, but Chris appeared to have thrown it aside for her love; even Leon would admit that this was romantic.

"Then…what is the problem?" he asked. He had to know.

"Apparently that's not enough."

He did not know what to say. Jill was often far too stubborn for her own good. Stubborn and afraid; a deadly mixture.

"There's nothing left I can do," Chris lamented. "If she comes back, she comes back. If not..."

He let out a deep, shuddering breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though dealing with a sudden wave of acute discomfort. Leon felt lost, awkward and unsure. Of all the friends he had accumulated over the years, Chris Redfield was the last he would expect to find the need to comfort. It seemed ironic somehow that he anger was now directed at the previously innocent party: Jill.

"She'll come back," he assured him. "She just needs time. Honestly, I think she is still reeling from the news. She needs to come to terms with that before she will open up again. Give her time."

Talking to her would not help. Ultimately, she would accuse him of interfering and likely argue with Chris for speaking to him about such a personal matter. It was at this realisation that he felt the helplessness that appeared to have held his friend captive. Would he have reacted any differently if he were in Chris's position? Fighting for what you love is easy, it was knowing that nothing could be done that would make a difference that was difficult.

"This is stupid," Chris laughed as his fingers further messed up already unkempt hair. "What is it about her that makes me feel like this? Any other girl and I'd realise it wasn't worth the pain and cut and run."

"Is it?" Leon found himself asking. "Worth the pain?"

Chris's eyes darkened and suddenly he could not meet the younger man's gaze.

"Would you think any less of me if I said yes?"

Leon grimaced. Perhaps being perpetually single was a blessing in disguise.

"Fucking stupid," Chris muttered beneath his breath.

There was no balm for a broken heart; Leon knew this despite his relative inexperience in comparison to the former S.T.A.R.S. officer. It could not have been any easier when the object of its ardour had a mistaken view of what was fair. Ever since the days of Umbrella, personal relationships stretched into a new dimension of meaning. Even the most casual friendship was highly valued. Love itself was a rare commodity. Too many years had been spent in isolation, emotional needs forfeited for the good of the cause. Everything needed to be learned anew, and it was to be expected that there would be bumps on the road back to normality. Or, in the case of the couple in question, potholes.

"I'm sorry," Chris repeated. It seemed that on the rare occasion that pride was swallowed and an apology offered, they came in abundance. "I should...get back to the hotel."

Leon rose with him, for a reason that was unclear. Politeness? Or perhaps he feared what would occur should he remain seated by his laptop? Would he begin to look for her? Would he find her? If he did, what would he say?

Love was painful and it was never simple. It was an emotion he did not recognise, and would likely miss if it ever came his way. Searching for this elusive gem in a memory that left him both bitter and angry was not a path he wished to tread.

'You're avoiding the main issue here. Look a little closer to home. It's there and you know it.'

"Actually, I had one more question," Chris asked as he hovered by the door, the bags beneath his eyes highlighted by shadows that had previously been absent.

Leon braced himself. The conversation could not possibly take a more awkward turn, but life seemed to harbour the desire to prove him wrong on as many occasions as possible lately.

"Do you have feelings for my sister?"

On his mental scoreboard, life's tally increased by one.

Though he was not sure of intention, there was a darkly foreboding emphasis on the words 'my sister'. From a simple change in tone he sensed a warning, of how carefully he ought to tread when answering this question and of what he consequences would be if they adversely affected the aforementioned sister.

"Yes."

The word fell from his tongue before he considered his answer. Because ultimately, he harboured deep feelings for Claire and denying the fact was adding weight to the problem every day.

Chris was silent and for the longest moment he was sure he would ever experience, he expected rage. It was no secret that the Redfield siblings were incredibly close; telling the older brother that he felt for the younger sister was perhaps the most ridiculous admission Leon Kennedy had ever made.

But to his surprise, the response was spoken quietly and with genuine concern.

"Why haven't you made a move?"

This, Leon knew, was the part at which he needed to tread lightly.

"Because she is my friend," he admitted. "I care about her deeply, but I don't know what those feelings are. I don't understand it, it's new to me. She is a good friend and I won't sacrifice that for anything less than love. Even then, I think I would be hesitant."

Chris smiled gently and he took this as an encouraging sign. If there were anything wrong with as little as a single syllable of his speech, he would not have been conscious in that moment.

"For what it's worth, I'd be okay with that," Chris admitted. "At least I know that you have her best interests at heart. But I do feel obligated to say-"

"Yeah, yeah," Leon interrupted, daring enough to add laughter to his words. "If I hurt her, they'll bury me in a test tube, right? Trust me, I'd tear myself a new one if I ever did that."

And then the awkward silence returned. Somehow, admitting his feelings to the one person he was afraid of addressing on matters such as this had done nothing to lift the weight around his neck. The feelings of others were always so clear to him, but his own could only be observed through a haze that threw all his senses in a multitude of directions.

And here he was, ending a heart-to-heart with the last man he expected to open up to. Strangely, he felt better in the knowledge that it had been Chris with whom he had exchanged such deep-seated thoughts. Somehow he did not believe that it would feel right with any other man. Likewise, he would not have been comfortable accepting the truths that had been offered to him had it been another.

"So, do we go for an awkward man-hug-type-thing?" he asked, the hilarity of his thought not going amiss.

Chris stared him down momentarily and then rolled his eyes as he prepared to step back out into the hallway.

"Not in a million years," he laughed.

And Leon found that he too laughed. Because it truly was ridiculous.

But somehow...it was alright.

**AN - Please review :)**


	7. Black House Will Rock

**AN **- There was so much to cram into this chapter that I'm amazed it didn't turn out longer. Here is where the direction changes, where everything starts to spiral. As far as rating is concerned, I honestly don't know where the upcoming chapters will register so I may need help on that one. I'm straying into unknown territory, and as such apologise if the quality is a little lacking; writing action/horror and all that comes with it is new ground for me. Hopefully you all enjoy what is coming :). Chapter title is from 'Cry Little Sister' by Gerard McMann.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed last chapter: _.-SnipingWolf, Ninja-Gnome, Kenshin13, tek, Ivilith _and _xSummonerYunax_. Though I can't help but notice that review numbers are falling while hits are rising (and quite dramatically). If you think that I am going wrong somewhere, please, _please_ let me know, don't refrain from reviewing. I like to know where I am going wrong as well as where I am doing well, and at the moment I feel that the former is tending to be the case with this story. Just no pointless flames ;). If I ever needed to hear your opinions, it is doubly true in the case of the upcoming chapters.  
I hope you enjoy chapter six.

* * *

******Blindside**

_**Chapter Six**__ - Black House Will Rock_

_"Thou shall not fear."_

_**August 22, 2003. 6:19pm. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas.**_

_She had sworn that nerves would not get the better of her. She had sworn that she would not be afraid._

_In all honesty, it was not her fault. She would have been able to remain perfectly composed had it not been for the well-meaning but overbearing thoughts of her friends. It was a mistake to have allowed the name of her date to slip. Jill Valentine, playing the field; that was all it had been. Then she had answered honestly to Claire's probing questions, had admitted that the date was in fact with Chris, that she had not been single for several days now._

_She should have known that their secret would not keep long._

_Before she was aware of the consequences of such a slip, she found herself at the mercy of her friends' questions and made the unfortunate mistake of revealing that she intended to wear slacks and whatever top suited her fancy that night. Several lectures on the importance of a first date later and she was thrown into a state of panic. Less than half an hour later, she was back in her apartment, taking her friends - including the ever-voracious Patricia, who had unfortunately chosen that particular weekend to visit - through every item of clothing in her wardrobe. One by one they were deemed too conservative, too dressy, too revealing, not revealing enough..._

_The item they had settled on was a dress she had never intended to wear, one she had simply liked the appearance of as she flicked through a catalogue one day. It was a tight, ruched cobalt number, off the shoulder on one side and barely skimming her knees. It clung to her curves in a way that was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable and a little self-conscious. She felt overdressed. Then there was the hours of preening she had been subjected to; hair trimmed and tousled at a salon, fingernails and toenails tended to and a variety of spa treatments, including a rather thorough wax that was still perceptible on the edge of her pain threshold._

_She was not trying to impress, but every inch of her screamed effort. Would he believe that she expected something?_

_She sighed as she brushed down her dress, preparing to turn the corner and walk the final distance. It was then that she caught sight of her reflection in a nearby shop window. Small, white flowers glistened in the artificial light of the street lamps, petals poised perfectly against the backdrop of dark brunette hair. He had sent flowers earlier that day, much to her surprise. Pink roses; her favourite. Surrounding the much bigger flowers in the centre of the bouquet had been small, delicate flowers she recognised as Lily of the Valley. She had snipped part of the plant away and entwined it in her hair at one side, wondering if he understood the meaning of those tiny yet beautiful blooms. Part of her liked to think that he had._

_Taking a deep breath, she turned the final corner, balancing on heeled shoes as she shuddered against the breeze._

_He was waiting for her, dressed in perhaps the only pair of jeans he owned that were not scuffed or otherwise damaged, a white T-shirt beneath a black sports jacket; casual yet dressy._

_'I am way overdressed,' she gulped, dreading the moment his eyes would fall on her._

_And then they did, and everything slowed to a halt. At first she thought that he had not recognised her, but then an undeniable smile found its way to his lips and he closed the distance she dared not walk._

_"You…" he gasped, reaching out for her hand. Words, it seemed, eluded him._

_His eyes travelled the length of her body, the smile not once faltering._

_"You look…breathtaking," he settled on when his eyes returned to hers, glazed and filled to the brim with emotion._

_"You don't think it's too much?" she asked, chewing on her bottom lip as she waited for an honest answer._

_"No, no!" he insisted. "Not at all. It's just…_wow_."_

_She could not help but smile, having thought it impossible to elicit such a reaction clothed from a man who had seen her naked. Indeed, she could feel him undressing her with his eyes; exactly the reaction that dress had intended to provoke, according to her friends. Where she had previously felt uncomfortable in these situations, she found that she quite liked it when the guilty party was Chris. There was just something about him that made her feel so comfortable, like she did not need to fear anything when she was with him._

_"Thank you," she smiled. "You clean up good yourself."_

_And she pressed a kiss to his lips, feeling a hand move automatically to her waist._

_"I am not this lucky," he sighed when they parted, sharing with her a gentle laugh._

_As though his words had physically affected her, she found that she no longer hunched and held herself with much more confidence than before._

_"So," she purred. Now that she knew the effect she had on him, she could not help but exploit it a little. "Where are you taking me?"_

_"Looking like that?" he grinned deviously. "Home. Damn, you smell good."_

_She laughed nervously._

_"Obviously you're not up to date with social etiquette," she teased. "You have to court a girl before you take her to your bed."_

_"Damn," he sighed. "In that case, I suppose there's this little Blues place I have reservations at. Good thing, really, otherwise what would we have done?"_

_"Blues?" the mere mention of the word caused flutters of excitement to erupt within her chest. She had always had a soft spot for the blues._

_"Seems I've got you all figured out, Miss Valentine," he teased, catching on to the meaning of her smile. "If you wouldn't mind…"_

_He then held out his arm, inviting her to link it with hers. How could she refuse? He had called her 'breathtaking', and was taking her to the restaurant she had been dying to visit since she heard of its opening; she would have done anything he asked in that moment._

_The restaurant, it transpired, was in fact the one she had heard about. The Crossroad Palace was still in the early days of business, and it had been booming; reservations were not easy to come by. While the effort she had put into the date had been physical, she felt that which Chris had expended was less tangible; his effort was focused on pleasing her, on making her feel good in the moments they shared. Suddenly, the pedicure seemed like a ridiculous waste of money._

_"You're quiet tonight," he commented once they were seated. The booth they would call home was well-situated; a good view of the stage, well away from wandering eyes._

_She contemplated her reasoning; did she admit to nerves, or to the regret of spending so much time on herself and not enough thinking about him?_

_For all his macho overtones, she could see clearly now that he was a truly sweet and caring man. And she had thought a particularly invasive wax he could not even see would please him?_

_"I am so stupid," she groaned, not even caring that she had spoken the words aloud. She allowed her head to fall into her hands, carefully-tousled hair falling against her skin._

_"What is it?" he asked softly._

_"Look at me!" she laughed, though the humour she saw in her thoughts was very dark indeed. "I am wearing a Victoria's Secret dress, I spent three hundred dollars on skin treatments that you can't even see, I can barely walk in these shoes and don't even get me started on the fact that save for this ridiculously expensive haircut and eyebrows that have been plucked half to death, there is not a single hair on my body!"_

_Chris blinked, unsure if he should be laughing or contradicting everything she was saying._

_"I wanted tonight to be about us and about how much I love you, but I…well, I look like this! It's not me!" All the while, he remained silent, listening with worry etched into his expression. "And you sent me pink roses, and though you probably didn't think of the meaning, you sent me lilies of the valley! You brought me to a Blues restaurant despite the fact you never knew who Robert Johnson was until you met me. What did I do? I…I dressed like this."_

_She silenced herself before her rant pushed on, and refused to look his way. It was quite possible that he thought she was insane and deeply regretting ever asking her out._

_"You look beautiful, Jill," he assured her, reaching for a hand. She could not help but notice that hers were so small in his, so soft in comparison to his rough skin. "But you look beautiful no matter what you wear. I did not fall in love with you because of your face or your body…I fell in love with you because of your passion and your heart, because you are the one person in this world I could not live without."_

_She exhaled slowly, allowing his words to sink in._

_"But if you are worried about how truly breathtaking you look tonight, let me tell you this," he continued. "That you would spend so much time and effort to try to impress me flatters me deeply. But you don't have to go to such lengths to impress me…you just have to love me."_

_She laughed this time, and allowed him to pull her into the warmth of his body, smelling cologne that assured her that she was not the only one to put in physical effort that night._

_"And for the record…I did think of the meaning."_

_This caught her attention and suddenly, all the doubt she had felt faded away. If he had known the meaning of the flowers, everything else he did that night would be rendered superfluous, and there was nothing she could do to match the sentiment._

_"Happiness will come back to us," he assured her as she settled into him in a more comfortable position, allowing the music and the atmosphere to sweep over her. "Even if I have to drag it back kicking and screaming."_

_And then she met his lips again, the nerves of a first date evaporating completely. For the first time in more years than she cared to consider, she felt completely at ease. If she had ever thought to find this feeling again, she had never expected to find it in the arms of a man, let alone her partner. It was not a place she wanted to leave, and though dependency was not something she was used to, she was willing to submit in this case._

_The hand that had fallen to her waist the moment their lips had touched held her tightly yet gently, but moved suddenly to be placed against her cheek, his left arm around her shoulders, holding her to him. The warmth of his skin acted as a sedative, sending her into a state of near catatonia, until she felt utterly useless in his arms. His tongue teased hers, deeper kisses interrupted by sporadic, tender pecks. She found herself gripping the front of his T-shirt, gathering the fabric in a closed fist, eyes tightly closed to him. She felt that she should pull away, but could not bring herself to disconnect. Truly, she had never before been kissed so thoroughly and her brain was unsure what to make of the sudden influx of sensations._

_And then they parted, his forehead touching to hers as they both paused to catch their breath. She rarely kissed at all on the first date, let alone indulge in a locking of lips the calibre of which would often lead to something much more serious. Though she was aware that she had done so much more with Chris, it continued to astound her just how comfortable she felt with him. She had never completely trusted a man and the mere thought of it frightened her to the core. She did not want to let her guard down, but his presence rendered it superfluous. The thought of relying on a man for protection was absurd to her, but she felt no fear when she was in his arms, save for that which her love provoked. _

_"But since you spent so much money on that incredible body of yours, I think I should take a look at the goods," he claimed cheekily when they finally pulled back and her thoughts drifted into nothing. "I mean, for inspection purposes."_

_She thwacked him gently on the chest, barely able to suppress a smile._

_"You had to spoil the moment, didn't you?" she laughed. "Pervert."_

_"Oh, but would you have me any other way?" he asked, lips pressing to her forehead._

_She pondered this for a moment, but could barely hear her thoughts through the veil of bliss that had dulled most of her senses, but heightened the ones that mattered._

_"No," she realised with a smile. "No, I wouldn't."_

"Are you with us?" spoke a voice, breaking through her delirium. Jill jumped a little and looked up into the smiling face of Hillary Jones.

"Sorry," she apologised as she released the petal that she tugged on.

"Oh, they're beautiful," Hillary hummed as she inspected the flowers upon the desk. "Who are they from?"

Jill sighed. The flowers were waiting on her desk when she had entered that afternoon, and the generous benefactor had not left a note. But she knew who had sent them. The flowers were lily of the valley.

"Oh," Hillary spoke nervously, biting her lip as she realised that there was a painful story behind the beauty.

"It's okay," Jill assured her, sensing a forthcoming apology. "It's…my fault."

Though she had not yet admitted this aloud, she knew that it was the truth. All that she had felt the previous night was not there when she had woken in Claire's bed, a hangover of regret painfully plaguing her. She knew that he loved her, knew that it ran deep enough to avoid the pitfalls her predicament would have caused any other relationship. But the pain was still too real, as was the fear, and she was not yet ready to share this with another, especially not the man she knew deserved so much more.

It was the same as that fateful day; her effort was not enough, no matter how hard she tried she continued to come up short.

'You're afraid of opening up,' a voice told her quietly. And she believed it. There was so much that she wanted to tell him, but every admission led to acceptance of what she felt, and the depths of those feelings terrified her. She did not want to end up hurting over this. The more she fought this, the better. Although she desperately wanted a future with him she thought it best to deal with each day as it came. They were in no hurry, had nothing to rush for. Maybe by the time the day came when she could avoid it no more, she would have come to terms with these emotions, and accepted the fact that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this man, whatever the conditions may be.

"Someone once told me a story about these flowers," Hillary spoke, hoping to offer a little comfort. "Said the flower fell in love with a nightingale, enamoured by its song. But it was shy, so it hid amongst the reeds, safe from view but able to hear the song of its beloved. But the nightingale became lonely and vowed never to sing again unless the flower bloomed every May. I always thought it was romantic."

As did Jill. They promised the return of happiness, but that was something she just could not see those days. Was Hillary attempting to place her and Chris into the story? If so, she knew that the attempt to help was pointless; he could withhold his song all he wanted, but how could she bloom when she did not feel whole?

"We're moving out soon," she continued. "We need to go."

Jill nodded vaguely.

"Are you sure you're okay, honey?" Hillary asked. The concern in her voice was so deep, Jill considered for a moment leaning on her and divulging what it was that worried her.

'You've already brought two soldiers down, and who knows what Leon is feeling right now?' she reminded herself. 'Leave her alone.'

"No, but I can pretend that I am," she assured her, brushing aside her worry. She was a good girl; she did not need to carry the weight.

"Alright," she reluctantly accepted. "Come on, don't want to be late, do we?"

"So have the teams been finalised?" Jill enquired.

"Yes," Hillary answered, with a little more of the usual bounce to her words. "Alpha consists of yourself, Kennedy, Miller, Newburn, and Abramowitz. I'm with Bravo, that's Redfield, DeChant, Cavanaugh and Connolly. To be honest, I'm glad I'm not on your team. I really can't stand Tessa."

Jill chuckled at her frank honesty.

"I think she's alright," she revealed. "Tough and sometimes cold, but aren't we all?"

"I suppose," Hillary sighed, pushing open the door ahead of them. "To be honest, I never got on all that well with other women. Too bitchy; at least guys give it to you straight."

As always, her words were appropriate to Jill's thoughts. Neither girl had time for mind games; it was little surprise that they had come to be good friends in the last few days.

They were both already dressed for combat, nothing left to do in preparation except progress to the boardroom for one final briefing before being transported to the facility.

As it transpired, they were the last recruits to arrive to the briefing, and all eyes were on them as they entered the boardroom. It was Chris's gaze that she feared the most, and so strove to avoid it as they took to their seats.

Truth be told, she did not know how she would make it through this mission.

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 9:00pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, Texas.**_

The hours had flown past, leaving Leon with a sense of rushed urgency to add to the trepidation that already lingered on the edges of his mind.

"Who the hell are Verisanda Technologies anyway?" asked Kirk Abramowitz, the one recruit Leon had not found the opportunity to meet prior to the mission. He was one of the older members of the team, having celebrated his thirtieth birthday many years ago, though he was young at heart, with a kindly face and healthy sense of humour.

"Apparently they are a small-time supplier for larger pharmaceutical companies," Leon explained, though the extent of his knowledge did not stretch far. "Base chemicals, medical supplies; everything from silicone to syringes. It makes sense that they would be involved in illegal research; they are below the radar, and hardly anyone outside of the medical business has heard of them. It was by pure chance that we found our lead."

Abramowitz grunted, not in the least bit impressed by the lack of communication.

He moved away slowly as Jill took to Leon's side, nodding encouragingly for lack of anything else to communicate. He had not yet confronted her about her reaction to Chris's understanding, and if he was to be honest with himself, he was not sure that he wanted to. He could see that she was punishing herself enough with the pain she allowed to run its course. After all, the wound that ailed them both had been carved into her being, not Chris's.

"Three minutes," she commented, with a quick glance to her wristwatch. "Are we ready for this?"

"Will we ever be?" Tessa chuckled, overhearing her words.

Leon smiled weakly. Not a single agent looked to the forthcoming events with an eager mind, let alone a beating heart. It was best that this was done quickly.

"Alright team," Jill called, raising her voice above the buzz of conversation at the temporary command centre. "Initial negotiation attempts have failed. Prepare to move out. Keep your wits about you and expect the worst."

Chancing a wary glance to Bravo team, Leon watched them jump into the van that would take them to the rear side of the facility. He could not shake off the dreadful feeling that it was a missed farewell. All alarm bells screamed in his mind, but there was nothing he could do.

"Kennedy," Jill called, voice set in a harsh tone he was not entirely used to. "You daydream on your own time, now move!"

Wasting no more time, he jogged to her side, weapon in hand and apology on the tip of his tongue. He then took it upon himself to keep an eye on the other team members; the competent Tessa, light hearted Abramowitz and clearly nervous Donny. He lightly shook his head, wondering why on Earth the guy had been cleared for operations in the first place. He did not blame him for his uneasy way of approaching life, not after all he had seen, but he could not help but curse the incompetence of the psychiatrists involved in the evaluation process; he obviously dealt with post-traumatic difficulties of some kind and was receiving no such help for them.

The first lock proved no problem for the team leader, and they all slipped silently across the threshold, weapons trained on the corridor before them. With an uncertain whizz, the doors closed behind Leon, sealing them all within the sterile white walls of the laboratory.

It was just as any medical centre should have been; a blood bank, perhaps. A solitary reception desk stretched against the far wall, a potted palm flourishing at one end. The security display set on a bracket high above the desk displayed typical noise, black and white pixels dancing soundlessly as their shadow jumped erratically on the smooth surrounding walls.

"It's quiet," Tessa noted, her steps cautious and well-trained. "You think they knew we were coming?"

It was not impossible. He could vaguely recall Claire confiding in him the information Terra Save's contact had sent them. Not that it would be of much use now. As far as he knew, the contact would be off-base by now, safe from what he knew was to occur. Perhaps the contact was the leak? Maybe they got to him, threatened him a little and tortured the information from him?

"Light steps," Jill commanded, voice now hushed. "Follow my lead. Kennedy, up front."

Though he had worked alongside her on occasion during the Umbrella years, he had not yet witnessed Jill's authoritative side. She had a certain way of commanding her voice, to use it to bring a grown man to his knees. He could feel the effect it had on him, the desire it instilled deep within his soul to remain close to her and hope that she would not use that tone on him again. He certainly did not envy her boyfriend…if that was what Chris was at that moment.

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 9:15pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, Warehouse.**_

Keeping his head in the game proved more and more difficult with every step that he took. Chris would not admit when his mind began to wander but he had begun to fear that it was becoming obvious to the other recruits.

He could not seem to reconcile Jill's actions in his mind. Was it something he had done wrong that caused her to doubt their relationship? He had tried his best to be loving and to give her all he felt she deserved; was he coming up short? Because he could not accept that she would walk away because of her inability to have children. If she felt the way he assumed she did, she would want comfort and would be selfish in this need. So why did she push? Had she wanted to leave him all along but had been afraid of his reaction? Did this offer her a way out?

He would have much rather preferred she be honest with him. The truth would hurt but he could respect the fact that she was honest with him, that she cared that much. But now, he was left to wonder if she cared at all.

'No…she's not that good a liar,' he told himself.

_He did not know how long he lay awake, watching her in peaceful slumber. It felt strange to wake with her in his arms, but it was not a feeling he would trade for anything. If he could wake every morning to feel her breath on his skin, he would relinquish every worldly possession, and spend each and every waking moment simply drowning in her presence._

_'Get a hold of yourself, Redfield,' a deep, disgusted voice urged him. 'She's just a girl.'_

_But he knew deep down that she was so much more than that. As her friend, he believed that he had found his soul mate, never expecting that he would find love with her._

_She stirred quietly, lips parting for breath as her eyes fluttered open. They blinked several times, meeting his in a moment so surreal._

_"Morning," he whispered._

_A smile answered his greeting; a smile so natural that she attempted to hide it by burying her face into the pillow._

_"Oh no," she laughed. "I'm not ready for this!"_

_"It's a little too late for that, don't you think?" he laughed quietly, brushing hair from what was visible of her face. And then she turned back, expression now composed._

_"This is a dream, right?" she asked in a hushed voice, chewing nervously on her bottom lip._

_Finding no words to offer her, Chris leaned close and captured her lips, warmth surrounding him, beckoning his arms to her slender yet muscular body. Beneath the sheets, she was as naked as he and so he fought to keep distance between them, when all he wished to do was to hold her close._

_"Morning breath," she reminded him, laughing into his mouth._

_"No tongue," he pointed out. "Now come here."_

_She put up superficial resistance; an effort on her part to make it look like she was reluctant when he knew that she was perhaps more eager than him in that moment. She closed the distance between them easily, the thin sheet between them providing a respectable barrier. Even so, her breasts pressed to his chest, escaping the confines of the folded sheet, and suddenly he could feel control slipping. She knew damn well what she was doing, fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. It seemed that each waited for the other to deepen the kiss, both too scared to make the first move._

_It was she who pulled back first, glazed eyes locked with his as she lowered her head back to the pillow, fingertips trailing from the back of his neck, round to his chest and down before her hand slipped back, allowing her arm to wind around his waist beneath the sheets._

_"Do you want some breakfast?" he asked, unsure if the current time made breakfast the appropriate word. He did not care for the time; it was irrelevant._

_"Can't we just stay here?" she asked softly. "Do we have to move?"_

_"No," he answered honestly, the truth hitting him as he admitted it. "It's the weekend; we have nowhere to be. We can stay…like this…"_

_Between his final words, he pressed kisses to her nose and cheekbone, emphasising the fact that this moment was theirs and they had all the time in the world to enjoy it. After all, three weeks of dating and skirting around the subject of sex had culminated in a night neither was willing to forget so soon. As long as they lay there, the moment lingered and they could pretend that they had not a care in the world._

_She smiled again. Genuine, pure… The simple sight of her expressing happiness warmed parts of him he never knew existed._

_"Oh baby, say it again," she sighed._

_"You should smile more often," he commented. "If you don't…I'll make you."_

_"What an appealing threat," she laughed. "Maybe I will; I have reason to now."_

_And then, he knew all that he needed to know._

_"You make me happy, Chris," she told him. "If I ever tell you otherwise, know that I'm lying."_

Chris shook the memory from his mind. Now was not the time to reminisce. He needed to keep his mind on the matter at hand, and they would deal with their issues when the mission was over.

'But she loves you…she is happy with you.'

"Redfield," DeChant called. "Over here."

And the dark, rustic walls of the warehouse settled back around him. It struck him as odd that the warehouse of a medical facility should be so run down, unclean and dingy. The smell of unwashed animals hung thickly in the air, choking him with its potency.

As he jogged towards DeChant's voice, the pervasive smell became more intense, until the team were forced to place hands against their noses to better breathe through the pungent stench.

"What the hell is that?" asked Jones. Her eyes were narrowed at a cage but a few feet from their position. There were dozens of containment devices, piled two-high along one wall.

Chris knew what awaited them before he could inspect the contents; he knew that smell, had suffered through it on more occasions than he would like to admit.

The dogs growled at the intruders, baring sharp, black teeth. Eyes were white, fur matted with mangled muscle visible beneath torn skin.

"This is the T-virus?" Jones asked, her tone one of horror and disgust. Many of the recruits had not witnessed the effects of the virus up close…but Chris had.

"Dobermans," he acknowledged. "The team at the Arklay Mansion named them Cerberus."

"Hellhounds," Connolly chuckled. "Seems appropriate. But what are they doing here?"

Chris shrugged, eyes surveying the remaining cages. The majority were Doberman crosses, cruelly mutilated for the sake of aggression. All infected, of course. The stench of rotting flesh was undeniable. There were several Rottweiler adults, bearing similar wounds and every sign of infection he knew to look for.

But it was the cages at the end of the row that sent fear into his heart. Scaled, clawed, flat bony heads following the newcomers quietly, as though gauging their movements. Unlike the dogs, they did not rattle their cages, simply watched, waited…observed.

"Hunters," Chris breathed. "Shit…these aren't Umbrella's work."

He stepped as close to a cage as his defences would allow, inspecting the creature as it stared him down. Sure enough, a crate to the left of the cage that lay half-open revealed several remote devices that he recognised without needing to inspect them more closely.

"Sir?" asked DeChant, confused.

"The MA-121 were developed in Raccoon City, but this…this model was manufactured from the data Albert Wesker stole when he defected," he explained, a chill settling into his bones. "The HCF utilised them during the attack on Rockfort Island and Umbrella's Antarctic base."

"Does that mean…" Jones began.

Chris swallowed. The facility remained too intact to have fallen victim to Wesker. At the very least, the presence of these models suggested that it was the organisation he claimed to work for that was responsible for the research that had become a cause for concern.

'That would bring us one step closer to Wesker,' he acknowledged.

"Blueprints for these monsters have been on the black market for months," explained Cavanaugh. "It's possible they bought the recipe and cooked these beasts up themselves."

"Cages are electronically locked," noted DeChant. "I suggest we take photographs and radio back our find."

"I agree," Chris concurred. "Cavanaugh, you have the camera. DeChant, you know what to do. Jones, follow me, there could be more."

Hillary stepped in place behind him, in the perfect position to cover his back. He did not have the heart to tell her that she need not have worried and that he did not wish to relegate her to such a position. She was eager and dedicated; exactly the type of agent the BSAA needed. He could not help but to admire her; in a way, she reminded him of how Jill used to be, before Umbrella had warped them all.

"Something doesn't feel right…" she muttered. "Do you think Claire had any basis? Do you really think there's a traitor?"

Chris balked, but maintained his composure. It made sense that DeChant would have spoken to the other members of the team also.

"I don't know," he admitted. "That's the trouble…we don't know each other well enough."

"Well…I think you and Agent Valentine are clear," she chuckled. "If not, that's one hell of a ruse."

He could not help but to laugh at this.

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 9:30pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, Main entrance throughway.**_

Jill followed Tessa's directions word for word, the terrible tremors of unease increasing with every turn that was taken into yet another empty corridor. She had seen nothing like this before; there was something here, she could feel it in the air, she simply could not see it.

'They knew,' she told herself. 'They knew we were coming and they evacuated in advance…that's all it is.'

Despite the logic of this thought, her gut instinct told her that something was not right. And her gut had rarely failed her before.

"And east," Tessa instructed, bringing them before a large set of thick steel doors. They were prominent against the sterile décor of the surrounding area, yet clinical in the same sense.

"And they said this wouldn't be easy," Donny chuckled.

Jill thought of reminding him to not act so cocky, but found that she smirked inwardly as she pulled her lock picking tools from her utility belt. It was with the suppression of a professional swagger that she stepped up to the reader to the left of the doorway, stepping into the small alcove formed by the looming doors. It was obvious that something of importance lurked behind this barrier; doors so large and sturdy were more often than not built with the purpose of either keeping something out or keeping something in.

'Chris would be laughing at you right now.'

The thought crept stealthily upon her, erasing the self-assured smile she had adopted quite comfortably.

She dreaded the moment they would rendezvous and feared that the awkwardness of the way she had left things between them would harm their performance.

'You are both professionals,' she assured herself. But how professional could she remain when, with each moment that passed, she felt the armour of selflessness slipping and became more and more desperate to apologise? And it was a hell of an apology that she owed.

Chris did not know that she was sorry, that she too was willing to do whatever it took to make their relationship work. If he was willing to allow her to be selfish, then she would. A life without him was too dull to imagine.

The pins clicked beneath her picks and the team waited patiently as she worked.

There was so little in her life that was good, even less that was certain. How could she walk away from the best thing that had happened to her, and possibly the best thing that would ever happen to her? She could spend the rest of her life searching for a man who did not want children, but her heart would always be with Chris. She would always love him, plain and simple.

Three clicks. This was proving more difficult than anticipated.

'He doesn't deserve what you dealt,' she scolded herself. And she agreed. He was only ever kind to her, and though they clashed on occasion he never maliciously attempted to hurt her.

'I will apologise,' she resolved. 'I will apologise and set things straight. I don't want to lose him.'

Five, six.

_Clunk._

Clunk? She was not expecting a clunk.

Above their heads, a red light shone, a silent alarm tripped.

"What happened?" Leon demanded, weapon at the ready.

"I…I don't know," Jill admitted. She had followed routine; this was how electronic locks were opened!

'You were distracted,' a voice spoke in the midst of the confusion.

'Only for a split-second!'

'You know that is all it takes.'

"Alpha, do you copy?" Chris's voice echoed through her earpiece.

"Bravo, this is Alpha," Leon responded. "We read you loud and clear, over."

"We appear to have found-" Suddenly, he cut himself short. "What? That's- Holy shit!"

"_A fault has been detected in system 4X_," recited a mechanical voice over the loudspeaker. "_Entry point Bravo Delta Nine. System disrupt._"

"Holy fuck, get back!" This time, it was the voice of Dan DeChant that screamed through the line, frantic and afraid.

"Bravo, report," Leon commanded.

"_Deactivating warehouse security systems_," continued the announcement. _"Re-routing power. Please stand by._"

"Hold fast!" cried Cavanaugh.

Ravenous barks echoed through the static, short bursts of controlled gunfire following.

"There's too many of them!"

Cries reached the ears of each Alpha member, expressions turning sour.

"Shit," Chris growled. "Something tripped, we're under attack. Re-"

His voice distorted, static overpowering the distant crackle of the familiar voice. A sharp whine permeated the closed line until eventually there was nothing.

"Bravo?" Leon called, finger pressed deep into his ear. "Bravo, respond. Redfield? DeChant? Respond, now."

Jill could barely hear his frantic requests for response over the deafening pounding of her heart. Blood flow to major organs appeared to have slowed, and the measly lunch she had choked down earlier that day threatened to reappear.

"_Something tripped, we're under attack_."

If something had tripped, there was only one possible way…

"_Backup procedure complete_," announced the emotionless voice. "_All systems normal_."

"What just happened?" Donny's voice broke through the silence, every teammate lingering in morbid silence.

"I-I…" Jill stuttered, unable to choke out the words. As the haze descended from her mind, the truth was revealed.

It was all her fault.

"I barely…I…" she gasped. They were dead, all of them…they had to be. And it was all her fault.

"Jill, this wasn't your doing," Leon assured her, recognising her expression as one of self-blame. "You couldn't have-"

"But I should have!" she argued. "One second…that's all it was."

Her hands were trembling, the picks falling from her fingers. Her vision dulled; the lights may have been fading, she was not so sure. All she knew was that something had given and the door was still firmly locked. Something _had_ tripped.

"Jill, calm down," Leon instructed. "What are your orders?"

Orders? She could not think of orders, not right now. She could barely remember her own name.

Memories flashed through her mind, of an instance back in Raccoon where the same mistake had almost cost her partner his life.

'You did it again,' she told herself. 'Stupid…'

"Jill, orders?"

She could not find her voice, let alone a single coherent thought in her mind. The screams of Bravo echoed off the sides of her skull, drowning her in regret.

"Alright people, let's move to plan B," Leon called out, the authoritative tone to his voice snapping her from her reverie.

"I give the orders here!" she interrupted, though her voice quaked with uncertainty that robbed her of the ability to think straight.

"Not anymore," Leon informed her. "I'm relieving you of duty. Move out!"

Incredulous, she stepped up to him, clinging to the one scrap of strength left within her for dear life. If she was not in charge, there was no way she could right this wrong. Bravo were in trouble, and the priority of Leon's employers was to obtain whatever data may be floating around the facility and to apprehend a man who may or may not be within the walls of the compound.

"You can't do that!" she seethed. "I give the orders, I-"

"_You_ are emotionally compromised, Jill," he reminded her in a low voice. "The stakes have just been raised and I can't leave the lives of these people in the hands of an uncertain mind. Now move out."

She was rendered speechless, heart pounding furiously in her throat. Plan B simply did not work for her; plan B involved taking a long, uncertain route down the winding west-side hallway, a route that may not lead where they needed to be. It could add hours to the mission, and by that time…

"What happened to 'leave no man behind'?" she asked. "What happened to trust, Leon?"

"I could ask you the same question," he answered, staring her down. She knew now that his reasoning stemmed far deeper than her sudden dubious behaviour. "You were right, Jill, you should never have come on this mission. When you sort your head out, I'll hand you back the reins."

Again, she could think of no words to speak. Part of her wished to slap him, to insist that her personal feelings had no bearing on her work ethic. But was that not how they came to be in this position in the first place? She had thought her emotions to be under control, but perhaps she was not as strong as she had led herself to believe?

"Base, this is Alpha. C5 was a bust; we are moving to section W4, over."

But where did that leave her? She could not leave Chris, but her job was her life. Choosing between the two was painfully impossible.

'You can't afford to keep making these mistakes,' she warned herself. 'Your head just isn't where it should be anymore. You could have killed them…'

And perhaps she had.

"Move out!"

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 9:32pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, Control Room.**_

"Security systems are still not online," he snarled, staring down the technician. "_Why_ am I still waiting?"

Failure was not a word that he tolerated, but each blip in his pln brought him closer and closer to uttering its profanity.

"S-sir," the technician stuttered. "Containment protocol is complex and…this was expected. We should be online very soon."

A frown was sent his way, and suddenly he knew that his attempts were not good enough.

"Leave me," he growled. "Send in the scientist."

He did not concern himself with names. Names were trivial; the only purpose they served was to mark the stones above the heads of the useless bodies once they had ran their course. He did not bother with stones, was not sentimental in this way. They meant little to him when alive, why should he mourn them when they died? Chances were good that it was he that instigated this most final transition.

The technician scuttled away, the lab coat entering a moment later. He shuffled slowly, seemingly afraid to raise his head. It was almost as though he bowed in reverence. This, at least, cheered up the seething man at the controls.

"What is the progress?" he asked.

"Life signs have terminated for the most part," the lab coat reported. "Saturation is complete."

"Fantastic!" he exclaimed, startling the poor man with his sudden positive attitude. "That, my friend, is the best piece of news I have heard all day."

The lab coat smiled, shoulders dropping in relief. He simply did not know what was coming; he severely overestimated his worth.

"Your services are no longer required," he smiled, sickening himself by how cheerful he felt.

"Thank you, sir," the lab coat enthused. "Thank you and good luck!"

"Oh, I don't need luck."

A single gunshot rang out, and the smile slowly faded from the face of the subordinate. He tried to breathe, but could not quite manage an act which he had previously taken for granted. Blood seeped between his lips, falling thickly to the floor.

The throat was always the most pleasing weakness; enough flesh to prevent a bullet from a gun such as his from severing the spinal cord, but the trachea did not stand a chance. It was not the wound that would kill him. No…he would choke to death on his own blood, perhaps even swallow his tongue. Death could be simple, but where was the fun in that? He had killed so many, it only made sense to shake things up a little and devise more inventive ways.

He watched with mild interest as the white coat developed streaks of crimson, the body finally falling to the floor in a crumpled heap.

As he had said, his services were no longer required. Did he honestly think that he would have been allowed to walk away? Why did they hold hope in their hearts? He did not offer mercy, and quashed hope at the first dull flicker. Perhaps he would have allowed the man to walk away had he not shown such relief; he was not sure. But none of that mattered now. The man was dead, and he was making one hell of a mess.

The monitors behind him flickered to life, and the smile he wore only grew larger. Today truly was his day.

He turned, observing the scenes that slowly appeared on each screen. Again, the smile grew as he observed a small gathering at the large steel doors just past the entrance hall. They appeared scattered, unsure. And then he saw her; her pale blue eyes simply fraught with worry. She chewed on a full, pink lip, not quite sure where she was or what to make of this situation. Her confusion appeased him, elated him even. She appeared so lost, so frightened...

"And you, pretty girl," he breathed, suppressing laughter. "You're next."

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 9:45pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, East Wing.**_

The door locked behind them, sealing even sound on the other side. Airtight, evidently; designed to stop any possibly pathogens from escaping. It was morbidly ironic that what they feared lay on the other side of that door, and was no doubt attempting to claw its way through at that very moment.

"Fuck…" Hillary's voice was strangled, tears lacing her speech as syllables fractured on the edge of her tongue.

"How is she?" Chris asked, crouching beside Connolly. The medic flashed him a grave expression, one that told him the answer was in the evidence.

Her skin had fallen a deathly shade of pale, spatterings of crimson colouring her white complexion. Her shirt was mangled, the flesh beyond faring a lot worse. Deep welts spewed rivers of blood, glistening in the artificial light. The left leg of her fatigues had been reduced to rags, imprints of canine teeth scattered across the exposed skin.

"Lie still," Connolly urged. It was evident that she could barely hear his words. "I can clean the wounds and sew her up, but there's not much else I can do out here. She's lost a lot of blood; she needs medical attention."

"Aren't we in a medical facility?" Chris asked, an idea dawning on him. "Hell, we're in a storage room right now. Maybe there's something that could help?"

Connolly shook his head gravely.

"Basic medical supplies," he explained. "Nothing I don't already have with me. This is a research facility, not a hospital. We need to abort the mission and get her to safety, otherwise she's not going to make it."

Abort such an important mission for one individual? Chris knew what the orders of his superiors would have been. But they had hired him knowing of his values; he could not leave a teammate, a _friend_, to die, not when there was still a chance to save them.

His expression turned grim. The mission was doomed from the start, and it was evident that something had gone hideously wrong.

_"Retreat!" Chris shouted, as loud as his voice would carry. The locks sprung one by one, unleashing their contents on the unsuspecting group. With every click that resounded through the large warehouse, the cages ticked down, drawing ever closer to the patiently waiting MA specimens._

_DeChant fired upon the approaching canines, several falling spectacularly against a hail of bullets. Claws skittered across the concrete floor, altered musculature of skinny legs proving hampering to their attempts to charge._

_Cavanaugh kept close to his side, covering his back as he returned the favour._

_"Over there!" they heard Hillary scream. His attention was draw to her position, and to the arm that pointed at a secure door on the stoned wall at the back of the containment area. "The light is green; it's open!"_

_"Everyone h-"_

_Her piercing scream tore through his words, an agonised cry for help following. When he turned back to her, she was pinned to the floor, a solitary canine burrowing into the flesh of her stomach as a house dog would have into dirt. Images of the fallen Joseph Frost flickered into his mind, but he pushed them aside. Joseph was dead by the time he had found him…Hillary still lived. He fired several shots, his aim unnaturally unsteady, but the mutt fell and slowly, she began to pull herself towards her weapon._

_"Medic!" he called, failing to register that Connolly was already on his way to her side._

_Cavanaugh's weapon continued to fire behind him, rapid successions of fire ploughing into anything that dared step close enough. Perhaps this was a fight they could win?_

_Suddenly, there was no sound from behind him. Something warm, wet and thick hit the back of his head, dripping down his ear and onto his vest. Somehow, he knew what awaited him, too afraid to turn._

_Cavanaugh's body remained upright for several seconds, his head several feet away, painting a bloody trail as it rolled across the concrete. Then, it fell, a dark pool forming around the neck. But it was what waited at the edge of this pool that drove fear into his heart. The MA locked eyes with him, blood dripping from one of its clawed hands. Chris could not think of how it had severed his comrade's head so skilfully with such primitive claws, but did not particularly want to wait around and find out._

_It charged as he fired, the pitiful hail of bullets from his M-15 not nearly enough to stop its progress. It collided with him in a matter of seconds, claws ripping through his vest, a mere fraction of an inch from his skin. As his weapon clattered out of reach, he found himself daringly reaching for its skinny, scaled wrists, amazed at the strength of something so small. Teeth bore down on him, saliva dripping onto his neck._

_And then, it was gone. In a sudden display of blood and ear-splitting shrieks, it collapsed into itself._

_"Shotgun works," DeChant growled as he helped him to his feet. "I read your reports."_

_"Head for the door," he instructed, hearing a struggle nearby. "Get it open."_

_DeChant did not question his orders, and Chris sprinted for Connolly, firing round after round into the thick hide of another MA that pulled on the straps of his medi-kit. Hillary remained conscious, firing at a canine that pulled uselessly on her leg. But that was the least of her worries, and Chris suddenly fired at the MA that approached, watching it tear apart the preoccupied mutt before digging its own claws into the flesh it had claimed from its victim._

_'They're tearing each other apart to get to us,' he realised, bile rising in his throat at the mere thought._

_Connolly reclaimed Hillary, heaving her to her feet as he allowed the majority of her weight to rest on his side._

_"Follow DeChant!" he ordered, the continuous click of locks sounding around them._

He still did not know how they had survived the onslaught. It was perhaps the in-fighting that distracted the beasts long enough for them to make their escape.

"Shit," DeChant growled. "I lost my radio."

Cavanaugh reached for his belt, only to find that what remained there no longer resembled a working radio. As though by instinct, Chris tapped his headset, finding that he picked up nothing but white noise; still covered in Cavanaugh's blood, it was obvious that the devices weren't waterproof.

Hillary chuckled, laughs broken by sporadic hisses.

"What did…we…expect?" she laughed. "Fuck, we're…all…dead."

But then Connolly reached for the device that remained firmly implanted in her ear. Strangely enough, it bore no signs of damage and for the most part remained perfectly dry.

Chris accepted it cautiously, pressing it into his dry ear.

"Base, this is Bravo, do you copy? Over"

Something crackled on the line, the whine of static almost deafening. And then…

"Bravo, this is base, we copy. Over."

His sudden sigh of relief was echoed by the team.

"We are a man down," he spoke into the headset. "Ambushed in the warehouse, another is injured. Requesting extraction. Over."

"Affirmative," base acquiesced. "What is your position? Over."

Chris glanced around the room. He was unsure exactly where they were, knowing only that they had somehow entered the base. Was this the path they were meant to have taken regardless?

"I-" he began, confusing almost overwhelming at this point.

Then, the base shook.

Connolly fell back onto his ass, DeChant gripping a nearby shelf for support. Chris swayed on the spot, looking frantically around as though an explanation were written on the walls. Supplies fell from the shelves, fixtures rocking on the walls.

"What just happened?" he asked, preparing himself for another quake. The ground continued to move beneath them. Or was it echoes?

"Please hold," base instructed.

And that was enough to assure him that something was not right. The only reason he would have to hold was for base to contact another party – namely, Alpha.

Syringes poured from an open box that had bee forced onto its side in the tremors, clattering against the cold floor.

"Alpha, do you copy?" he asked, praying for an answer. "Valentine, do you copy?"

What possible reason…

"Kennedy, do you copy?" he continued. "Abramowitz, Newburn…Miller?"

No answer.

"Abort the mission," base instructed, cutting through his attempts for communication. "Evacuate the base."

"What happened?" he demanded, protocol flying out of the window. The others paused, eyes latched onto his visage, waiting for a change in expression.

"We have lost sections W3 to W7," base explained. "Alpha were scheduled to be in area W4. Contact has been lost, assumed fatalities. Abort the mission. Over."

And he could think of no response. It made sense that the sudden tremors had been explosive in origin. But none of it made sense; first, subjects were unleashed on his team, now Alpha had supposedly been caught what appeared to be a booby trap.

Base knew, he surmised. Otherwise they would not have cancelled the mission. Claire was right; there had been a traitor within the BSAA. Somehow, they knew that they were coming, and they had prepared.

But that was not what worried him.

"Negative, sir," he spoke into the headset. "Our only way out is a suicidal run."

His mouth ran dry, bitter words clinging to the sides of his throat.

"We're trapped."

**AN - Please review :)**


	8. Scream, Aim, Fire

**AN **- I combined two chapters into one with this update, but I think it works better this way. It took me quite a while to get the pacing right, hopefully I succeeded ^_^. Next chapter signals the beginning of the climax of the story, and hopefully should be up soon as finals are finally over. Chapter title is from a song by Bullet For My Valentine.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed: _SnipingWolf, tek, Ninja-Gnome, Kenshin13, xSummonerYunax, Sparkle Valentine_ and _xwittychickx_. I really appreciate it!

* * *

**Blindside**

_**Chapter Seven**__ - Scream, Aim, Fire_

_"You have a choice. Live or die.  
Every breath is a choice.  
Every minute is a choice."  
~Chuck Palahnuik~_

_**August 22, 2003. 9:37pm. Verisanda Technologies, Inner Sanctum Area 1A.**_

The incessant ringing woke her from a terrible sleep. Sleep? Was that the correct word? Dust touched upon her skin, irritating her sinuses. Voices hummed, their words drowned out by the continuous ring.

"Jill."

Every inch of her body ached, her head throbbing painfully. It was not natural, did not even register on the scale of comfort.

"Is she alright?"

"She's breathing; pulse is strong, pupils responsive. Jill, can you hear me?"

Jill groaned loudly, attempting to lift her head. Surely it had not always been so heavy? But no sooner had she began to push herself upright, hands pulled her into a seated position, before pulling back her eyelids and shining an obscenely bright light directly into her pupils. She batted the hands away, refusing to allow long fingers to press against the skull that already ached something terrible.

Light slowly returned to her world, the voices forming a more substantial sound, full sentences emerging from the buzz.

"Take it easy!" Abramowitz growled, throwing away Tessa's hands as she crawled from Jill's position on the floor to test the strength of his shoulder. "You already fixed it."

And every sense rushed back at once, hitting her with the full force of clarity.

"Now that we've ascertained that everyone is in one p-piece," Donny attempted to say, deep shuddering breaths tearing apart his words. "What the fuck just happened?"

"How long was I out?" Jill asked, ignoring his seemingly absurd question. The light above their heads swung loose from its fixture, trolleys that had evidently once been upright now flat against the floor, their contents strewn across the tiles. They could have been in the middle of a hospital ward, so familiar was the décor.

"Not long," Tessa answered as she once again began to poke her particularly sensitive skull. "A matter of seconds rather than minutes. How do you feel? Any nausea? Do you remember what happened?

_"Move out!"_

_"Wait!" she cried, reaching to grip Leon's arm, as though to somehow reinforce her point._

_Leon sighed, evidently not wishing to exert his power over her one more time._

_"Give me one more chance," she begged. "I can do this."_

_"Jill, it wasn't-" he began, but was cut off by her sudden confidence._

_"Something buckled, Leon," she pressed. "Something gave under the picks. I can still break this lock. Do you really want to add more hours to the mission? Something is out there, you heard- You heard it cut them down. I can do this."_

_His dubious expression did not falter as he turned to the other members of the team. Each face was as uncertain as the last, hoping that the mission would end sooner rather than later and they would be able to learn of the fates of their comrades._

_How could he deny them that?_

_"You have one minute," he told her. It was a small time frame, even for Jill's expertise. But while her confidence in herself had faltered as of late, her confidence in her abilities was never lacking._

_She set to work immediately, retrieving fallen picks from the floor. She could feel the pin that had slipped, firmly in place as it had been before. But something felt strange; something niggled at her sense of how things _should_ have been. She dared to test the pin, and it did not react to the pressure she applied._

_"Thirty seconds," Leon reminded her._

_She worked quickly, retracing every step, progressing as she should until finally..._

_"_Access granted_."_

_"And I'm that good," she gloated, relieved that she had stayed true to her word._

_"Alright," Leon laughed, the smile that he wore rippling throughout the group. "Don't get too cocky now."_

_She smiled weakly, chewing on her bottom lip. They were one step closer to their destination, but what of Bravo? There was a numb core to her heart that refused to reveal its emotion. She assumed that it was her natural defences, remnants of the Jill Valentine she knew she should have been in that moment. She did not need psychological defences to separate her emotion from her working mind. Yet there it was, this cold little shell._

_"For what it's worth, I think he's an ass too," Tessa laughed, misreading her expression as she slapped her amicably on the shoulder._

_There was a sudden pressure that built in her sinuses, every hair on her body standing to attention. She barely had time to react to the impending sense of danger before the sound hit. Sharp, quick; like the bang of a firecracker magnified several times. Then...more, firing in rapid succession, the volume increasing with every crack. The final assault shook the very walls, and she found that her feet were no longer touching the ground. Air rushed past, the thick steel of the door she had only just stepped through looming every closer._

_Pain exploded in her head, flaring for a brief second before...darkness._

"I feel fine," she assured the medic. "My ears are ringing, but I think I can safely say we all have that problem."

She watched in concern as Cavanaugh pressed a finger into his ear, shaking his head gently. Leon's eyes were closed, a look of mild irritation on his face. The last explosion had been loud, forceful and she was willing to bet that a large chunk of the facility was now absent.

"Fuck, my head hurts," she groaned.

"I'm not surprised," Tessa laughed, finally dropping her hands to her side. "You must have one hell of a hard skull; that was a pretty nasty knock."

"Base, do you copy?" Leon called, raising his voice above the silent tone. "Come in. Shit."

Jill pressed her earpiece hard into the tough skin of her ear, listening intently for the fizz of static. As she expected, there was nothing; no amount of hammering the buttons that lined the smooth black device could connect her to HQ.

Somehow, she found herself succumbing to the sickening sense of familiarity.

"Miller, give me your radio," Leon ordered, frustration now showing in the frown that had seized his expression. "Base, do- What the _fuck_ is going on?"

Jill reached for the broken radio, knowing that she was the only member of the team who had any chance of understanding what was wrong with the device. Her vision drifted in and out of focus, the room seeming to quake around her as she searched for a view that did not make her insides turn inside out.

"Do you think Bravo-" Donny began, but shied away as all eyes turned in his direction. "Never mind."

She flicked every available switch on the device in her hands, reverting to the state of an annoyed technophobe; truly, she was mere moments away from bashing it against the wall just to see what happened.

"I think it's safe to say that the mission is a failure," Abramowitz announced. "I'm sure the orders would be to retreat."

Jill looked back to the door that separated them from the ruins that lay beyond. The way back was likely blocked, the way forward likely leading to a dead end.

'This does not make sense...we should have been in that corridor. That bomb wasn't meant to trap us; it was meant to kill us.'

And suddenly the chill that settled upon her skin had not a thing to do with the malfunctioning air conditioning unit that rained sparks onto the tiled floor. Her mind may not have been clear, but she could see the situation for what it was; a set-up. Someone knew they were coming, and they did not want to leave any survivors.

She knew better than to assume that the rigged hallway had been the end of their plan. These were Umbrella's remains; dirtier, more disorganised but dripping the same quantities of venomous malice.

"How are you holding up?" Leon asked, crouching to her position in the ruse of examining her injury himself. His fingers were far gentler than Tessa's had been, more considerate to the pain he likely empathised with.

His words had referred to the situation with Bravo, she knew this, and she wished that he were capable of reading a little deeper than surface level.

"Not too good," she admitted. Now was not the time for lies. "But we need to get out of here before we can worry about them."

Leon nodded knowingly, and for a moment she witnessed the same pain in his expression. Because the truth was that emotion could never be pushed aside, not truly. Had Chris merely been her friend, she would have worried about him with the same agonising desperation. Had he been little more than a teammate, concern would have prevailed. Because a life was a life, no matter the emotional tag she placed upon it.

"Leon, I'm concerned," she voiced, casting these thoughts aside. "Look at this."

She held the small radio before him, signalling with the thumb of the hand that held it to a small green light.

"So the battery is still running?" he shrugged, failing to see the importance in her display.

"No," she sighed. "I worked on communication for a little while in S.T.A.R.S. and...my friend Brad taught me a thing or two before..."

The pause was involuntary. Even after all these years it was difficult to speak of her old friends to someone who had not known them as she did.

"These devices are old; the light refers to the strength of the signal. If there is no light, there's no signal."

He seemed to discern her meaning at long last, expression falling deathly serious.

"The signal is strong, Leon, and if you listen..." She flicked a switch on the top panel, and a low, jittery whine spiralled out. "I heard that exact same noise over Richard Aiken's radio when we were trapped in the grounds of the Arklay Mansion. The radio is working perfectly fine, but the signal is being blocked."

There was no need for her to continue her explanation; Leon knew exactly what she meant and took the news quite well, she noted.

"Then Claire was right," he breathed. "Shit..."

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 9:40pm. BSAA Temporary Headquarters. El Paso, Texas.**_

The rumours spread too quickly for her to pick any gossip from the grapevine. Whisperings were all she heard, muted conversations and sympathetic glances that were sent her way. Nobody trusted her, and she had accepted that this would be the case, but it was steadily becoming more than a minor pain in the ass.

"Parker!" she called as she jogged up behind an agent who seemed to be in far too much of a hurry. Quick steps and a fast pace always meant that they had somewhere to be; individuals in this situation were far more likely to offer up information than a stationary soldier.

"Sorry, Redfield, I'm a little busy at the moment," he told her, waving her off with an uncaring hand.

"I don't care!" she growled, voice rising a little higher than she had intended. She had always fought her temper, so afraid of becoming her volatile brother, but this was an occasion when she knew her best option was to ride the beast and point its anger in a useful direction. "Nobody around here is saying a damn thing to me. I want answers!"

Parker continued his journey, but offered her at least a little of his attention. Her temper had a knack of bringing about such a change in attitude.

"Bravo were ambushed by bioweapons," he explained hastily. "Moments later, half the facility disappears; Alpha along with it. We have one confirmed fatality on Bravo, Alpha are presumed KIA."

The words she had prepared to speak next froze in her throat, her legs continuing to move despite the line between muscle and brain being brutally severed. It was a harsh blow, but she did not feel it as she should; the wound was numb around the edges, hiding reality behind a sheet of frosted glass.

"So, if you don't mind-"

"The fatality," she interrupted, wanting answers while the book was still open. "Who- Who was it?"

Did she honestly want to know the answer?

"Gregory Cavanaugh," Parker replied, impatience now setting in. "As far as we know, Hillary Jones is a casualty and the others are fine. At least, that was the story before the lines went dead."

"Dead? How?"

This time, Parker stopped in his tracks, premature wrinkles prominent as he frowned.

"Miss Redfield, remember your place," he reminded her, not caring to be friendly about it. "The only reason you are allowed to set foot in this base is because your brother allowed for it."

Ordinarily, she would have chased him down as he walked away and verbally assaulted him for his insult. But there was not an ounce of anger left within her and all she could do was sway on the spot as he left, reaching for a nearby window frame when her balance became unsteady.

'They're alive,' she told herself. 'He's alive. He's not Steve. He's older, more experienced...and Jill is with him!'

But it was entirely possible that Jill had also perished. Then what? Age and experience did not factor into danger as they knew it; skill was irrelevant, Sherry Birkin had taught her that much. When survival rested on nothing more than dumb luck, where did one look to in the search of hope? Live or die, place your bets...everyone has an equal chance of either.

As tears welled in the corners of her eyes, she reached for her cell phone. Tears solved nothing; action at least could relieve the symptom.

"Blackwell?" she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Please give me some good news."

The silence at Blackwell's end spoke volumes.

"He missed check-in, Claire," she explained. "We lost contact twenty-four hours ago."

'If something good were to happen, now would be the time...'

"We think his position may have been compromised," Blackwell continued.

"No. No, something happened. Have you heard from the BSAA?"

Soft, ironic laughter sounded down the line. Somehow, it brought the ghost of a smile to her lips; Blackwell always succeeded in soothing her nerves, even when she herself was unaware.

"Nothing you haven't told us," she sighed. "You know they like to keep us 'activists' in the dark."

Claire smiled, having just experienced the physical aspect of the blackout the BSAA had imposed upon them. If it weren't for Chris's position, her current assignment would have been nigh on impossible to complete.

'I guess the only way of knowing of his death is the revocation of my privileges,' she thought morbidly.

Her lips parted to breathe a reply, but suddenly a hand clasped to her cell, disconnecting the call before she could protest. She turned, swinging an arm before her as she had learned in her brother's rather unorthodox self defence lessons. But the stranger anticipated her move and caught her wrist with a strong hand...a strong, tanned hand.

"Carlos?"

Carlos raised a finger to his lips and suddenly she fell silent. He released her wrist as he gestured to follow him into a nearby empty room. Perhaps ignoring her instincts, she followed and stepped aside as he checked the hallway one final time before closing the door behind him.

"Aren't you supposed to be catatonic on a beach in Cuba?" she asked bitterly, annoyed that a conversation with a friend had been cut short.

"Puerto Rico, actually," he corrected. "But hello, nice to see you, it's been so long."

She rolled her eyes at the sarcasm in his voice.

"You were going to reveal information to an outside source?" It was a rhetorical question but she felt compelled to answer anyway.

"She works for Terra Save," she explained. "We have a contact-"

"I know," he let her know. Irritation rose by the second and she did not know how many more she could spend in his company. Why did his sudden appearance annoy her so? They had parted on good terms, had even exchanged several emails over the year apart. But he was always Jill's friend, never hers. She liked him, but her brother's hostility towards him was contagious. It was silly, really, hating a man because of his historic attraction to her brother's girlfriend. Perhaps it was the fact that he would blatantly flirt with Jill in front of Chris, and would make no secret of his attraction to her? If this reason was true, it was truly ridiculous; Carlos would be the first to admit that he no longer felt for Jill that way. It was Redfield reasoning, and she was not one to question it.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

It appeared to be an embarrassing subject and he averted his eyes from hers as he spoke.

"This Major guy they are hunting...they believe he was in Raccoon during its final days," he explained. "As an ex-UBCS soldier, they figured I was the best person to advise on this case. Evidently they did not do their research."

"Unpaid and expended?" she asked with a smile. Carlos laughed.

"Ouch, _chica_," he chuckled. "I know of the names and backgrounds of several high-level Umbrella employees; people we were ordered to help evacuate. Some are dead, others in jail...but a few are still out there somewhere. But, they kicked me out not too long ago, won't breathe a word of what has happened. I had to find out from the janitor, of all people. I guess we're in the same boat now...suspects."

"Suspects?" she protested. "I never worked for Umbrella! I've spent the last five years fighting-"

"Whoa, simmer down! It's simple; they don't know who to suspect, so as always their attentions are turning to the outside. There is the ex-Umbrella employee - as you continue to remind me - and there is the activist who has had more dealings with Umbrella than half the staff here combined. Honestly, I would suspect me. In your case, I think they're clutching at whatever they can find."

She had not looked at it this way; she was an outsider in this world, and the guilty party rarely looked within.

"I agree with you," Carlos told her. "Something is not right. But if I were you I would keep all that you know to yourself, otherwise you may end up inadvertently adding to the problem, or worse."

And then she felt her composure faltering. How could she keep silent, knowing what had happened?

Were they even doing anything to help them? Had she any less sense, she would have travelled to the facility herself and stormed the perimeter. She doubted that she would get far, but at least she would have tried.

Carlos' hand moved to her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly as she allowed her head to fall.

"They're alright," he assured her. "This is nothing they haven't dealt with before."

But she knew that he was wrong. They had always had help; they had never struggled through alone.

"You saved Jill's life in Raccoon," she pointed out. "If it weren't for-"

"Don't think like that," he warned. He knew all too well where these thoughts often led. "I found a serum and I injected it; I barely did anything. Trust me, she saved my ass many more times. I'm still trying to make it up to her."

The hostility she had previously felt towards him drifted away with this admission. Because no matter how hard she tried to hate Carlos, she always arrived at the conclusion that he was a genuinely nice guy, and would bend over backwards for his comrades in the same way that the others would. She felt that she offered him an apology, but the genetic pride imbued deep within her refused such an act of penance.

"Having said that...I think I was wrong," he admitted, hand dropping lifelessly from her shoulder. He appeared as worn-out as she felt, stretched too thin despite being trusted with so little. "These failures, they...they are not the impulsive actions of a mad scientist; whoever planned this must have military knowledge of some sort. I figured... To be honest, I don't know what I think anymore."

Claire grimaced, knowing that an ex-military whack job was equally as likely to pose a serious threat as a disgruntled scientist with several experimental viruses up his sleeves.

All so could do for now was hope, but for what, she did not know.

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 10:00pm. Verisanda Technologies, East Wing.**_

The clap of footsteps echoed throughout the empty corridor. It was a short walkway, breaking off only into rooms of varying degrees of worrying calibre. It became obvious that the facility had been vacated, the only blemishes upon sterile tiles those that transferred from the feet of Officer Jones.

Connolly gripped her firmly, DeChant a little more concerned about hurting her. Connolly knew in the back of his mind that he should not have moved her, but was faced with no other choice. If she moved, she risked further blood loss but if she remained as she was she would have bled out anyway; at least this way, there was a chance of survival.

"Alicia..." she whispered. A gasp, barely a breath upon the clanging tones of nothingness, but it carried with the same insistence as a blast from an air horn.

Chris turned, caught off guard by her sudden utterance. She had been so silent until now. Connolly shook his head gravely in response to the questioning look he received; she was losing far too much blood.

"Hang in there," he told her. It was futile, really; she could not hear him through her own thoughts.

What would she hang on for? He had no idea where he led them, and the radio had fallen deathly silent a while ago. It was obvious that they were on their own and he had never felt so damn lost.

'It's a lot better than where Alpha are at right now.'

He cursed inwardly, thrusting the thought aside. Every time he considered their fate, an unsettling numbness settled into his chest. He thought of Leon, and the arm he would have likely thrown out to push her aside...and of course, there was the woman herself. Over and over again, Jill's death played out in his mind. A different angle, a different possibility, but all equally as crippling.

'You don't know that they are dead,' he continued to remind himself. 'They know better than to walk into an obvious trap.'

Because that was what it had been, pure and simple. Someone had tried to eliminate both teams. They had failed with Bravo, and he was sure as hell they had failed with Alpha. At least, he pretended to be sure. Truthfully, he had never before held so much doubt in his mind.

"Do you hear that?"

He had heard nothing above the roar of his thoughts, but Connolly's words hammered home reality and his mind was once again back in the moment. It was there, barely on the edge of perception; a sound akin to a rat pulling the skin from a smaller rodent.

"Big rats..." Chris muttered beneath his breath. With a sudden swipe of the hand, he motioned for Connolly to remain and DeChant fell to his side. Whatever was out there, Hillary was in no condition to face it. In all honesty, he was unsure that he would be fit to face it.

The corridor was empty, though cluttered. Trolleys lay horizontal against the floor, paperwork scattered across every surface. The walls remained the same sterile white they had been immersed in for the last several lengths of tiled floor, clinical excellence taken to the next extreme. But something stained the tiles beneath the carpet of paper, something that squelched beneath his boot.

DeChant kicked aside several leaves, exposing the stained tiles beneath. Crimson. That was never a good sign.

Movement was caught in the corner of his eye and Chris stood to attention, weapon trained on what he could not yet see. The position of scattered artefacts blocked the far end of the corridor from view, enough to force the hair on his arms to rise involuntarily when the sound that had previously pervaded the atmosphere ceased.

He recognised all the signs, did not need to wait for the stench to hit them before he was forced to accept the inevitable.

Truly, it had been expected. He had simply hoped this time that he had been wrong in his pessimistic assumption.

The researcher pulled himself wearily to his feet, the remains of his victim still coating his chin. It by no means resembled the creatures in Spencer's Arklay mansion or indeed those that had roamed the grounds of the Caucasus facility. Little flesh had decayed from this being, and for all intents and purposes it still appeared to be human, albeit one with a hell of a hangover. Detachment was far more difficult in these instances; where did the monster end and the man begin?

Chris fired.

There was nothing left of the researcher inside his shell, only primitive instincts driven by a virus; an inanimate shell powered only by biological function. There was no soul behind glazed eyes. The researcher had died long before they had arrived.

But still, seven words came to him moments before the man at his side chose to speak them.

"What the hell is going on here?"

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 10:20pm. Verisanda Technologies, Control Room.**_

He quickly regretted confining the cleaners to the main body of the facility. The scientist had left behind quite a mess and the mercenaries were worse cleaners than they were fighters. Mess generally did not concern him, but he still held the intention of rolling out the red carpet and he would have preferred it not be made of blood.

"Awaiting your orders, sir," saluted the mercenary at the door. Of course, they could not function without him. It was better for the organisation if they had no mind of their own, yet it proved irritating on far too many occasions.

"Are you ready?" he asked. There was only one answer he would hear; even if it had been a lie, he knew they were too afraid to respond in the negative.

"Affirmative," the mercenary confirmed. "Locked, loaded and ready to move out."

He hummed in mild approval. Because honestly, he did not care what happened to them after this point. His escape route was secure, and they would only get in the way. It was likely he would have to put a few of them down just to speed progress.

She stepped again onto the screen, her shoulders poised at a more confident angle this time. He did not like confidence. Confidence often nurtured misguided hope, and he wanted none of that. He offered mercy only in the form of a bullet, but even this was not on the table. There had been too much deviation from the original plan; from here on out he would stick to the schedule and hope her screams weren't too jarring. After all, his hearing was not as it once was.

"You still intend to proceed?" the mercenary asked, surprising him with his sudden bold move. "I mean...with all due respect, sir, it is an awfully large risk for one person."

The point had occurred to him, but this would go his way as everything else often did.

"This is personal," he pointed out. "Besides, the mouse is already caught in the trap; why not toy with it before putting it out of its misery? Entertainment is so difficult to come by these days."

The mercenary let out a dubious chuckle.

"What about the others?"

He looked to another monitor and frowned. He had underestimated the abilities of the others. But of course, this was Chris Redfield. He scrutinised the face that gazed despondently into the distance, the flicker of something familiar flashing across his expression.

He turned to the previous screen and familiarity struck again.

"It seems that the mice travel in pairs now," he laughed. "When will they ever learn?"

Worry. It was an unfamiliar emotion to him but he could detect it upon the features of the two agents, rooms apart but together in thought. They were a couple if he ever saw one; lovers, companions, whatever way it was phrased.

'Things just got interesting,' he chuckled inwardly. Emotions were a wonderful thing. They bound two individuals in a way that physical restraints never could. There were even those who would beg for death rather than allow their loved ones to suffer. But what if they had no choice? To know of suffering and of one's helplessness to stop it...that was the greatest form of torture.

"Sir?"

"Let's speed things up," he coughed. "I am becoming anxious. Let them go."

"S-sir, are you-?"

"Yes, now go before I tire of your presence."

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 10:21pm. Verisanda Technologies, East Wing.**_

The sounds had ebbed into silence hours ago, but still he dared not explore. It had taken him the better part of an hour to find the courage to crawl from the locker into which he had neatly packed himself, and even then it had been to crawl to the supply closet to arm himself with whatever was available. Short of ammonia and a mop, there was nothing of use.

He still brandished the mop, clutching it to his chest as though it were his lifeline. But what good would it do, really? These creatures were strong, and they were relentless. If they wanted to peel the flesh from his bones, a flimsy mop sure as hell was not going to stop them.

Footsteps echoed out in the hallway. He knew that retreating to one of the laboratory rooms was a bad idea. There were many places into which he could fold his body, but only two doors; it was so easy to be ambushed. They may not have been intelligent, but there were enough of them to pose a serious problem when encountered en masse.

The only chemicals that remained in the room were those that had caused the problem in the first place...and cleaning fluids. He already felt ridiculous with his mop.

"Are you sure-"

"No, but do you have any better ideas?"

Hushed voices were audible next, which was strange because the dead did not speak. Finding courage in a confused moment, he shuffled to the edge of the unit he had crouched behind and glanced at the door as it slowly opened. Black feet struck white tiles, two dragged rather than moving of their own accord.

'Should I say something?' he wondered. After all, they could be _his_ men. He did not know who to trust anymore.

"Wait a minute," spoke one voice, deep and masculine. He was American, just like him; the mercenaries were mostly foreign. "Who's there?"

He had barely made a sound, how did-

He looked up and swore beneath his breath. Having failed to judge the height of his weapon, the mop head was visible above the surface of the unit.

'How have I survived this long?' he asked himself.

"Don't shoot!" he pleaded, pushing the mop aside before rising to his feet with hands in the air. "Please, I-"

Three men stood before him, a heavily injured women hanging from the neck of the man he assumed to be the team medic. These were not mercenaries, looked far too lost to be involved.

"Wait!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You're the BSAA?"

The foremost man turned to look at his comrades, weapon held stubbornly before him. There was something familiar about his eyes, though what exactly it was eluded him. A look of confusion spread across the man's features and suddenly everything made sense.

"Thank God," he muttered. "I thought you were never going to- Mike, Mike Norton, I'm-"

"Terra Save's contact," acknowledged a man he thought to have just a little less hair than his father. "I'm a little surprised that you're still alive, to be honest."

Mike attempted a chuckle but achieved only a weak smile. He may still be alive, but the question of whether or not he - or any of them - would make it out of there in the same condition had yet to be answered.

"Please tell me you know your way around?" asked the foremost man again, finally lowering his weapon. And suddenly, the reason for his familiarity struck Mike like an anvil.

"Chris Redfield, right?" he asked. "You have the same eyes as your sister. Reluctant though I am to admit this, my knowledge of the layout of this facility is irrelevant for the most part. There is one straight path to the main entrance hallway, but this path also happens to be where the majority of the infectees are gathered. I was...moving towards the rear exit, through the warehouse. It's the only way-"

"The back entrance is off limits," Chris notified him. "The cages sprung; we barely made it out of there in one piece."

He could tell from the hidden emotion in the eyes of this man that he held only mistrust towards him. Mike did not blame him; he would have reacted the same had their roles been reversed. But he cared not if he was not extended unearned trust, his only concern remaining with finding a way out and reuniting with his family. This was a favour he never should have obliged.

"What happened here?" asked Chris, and Mike shrugged in reply.

"The virus got out," he explained, stating the obvious. "Everything went downhill as soon as the major arrived. Something tells me it wasn't an accident."

"Is he still here?" asked the bald man. He should have expected a round of twenty questions.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe, maybe not. Everything surrounding his arrival was hushed up; we weren't even given information about the man himself. All I know is that he is European and gained favour within the ranks of Umbrella during their final days. That description fits a lot of ex-Umbrella employees. The loyalists emerged when every other employee deserted them."

Chris nodded slowly as he took in this new information. Something distracted him, but Mike dared not ask any questions of his own. He needed these soldiers to help him escape with his life and they needed him if they stood any chance of making it out on their own two feet and not in pieces in a body bag.

"Oh God, no..."

He had almost forgotten about the woman. Suddenly seized by uncontrollable tremors, the medic was forced to lower her to the ground before she wriggled from his grasp. Her eyes were wide and wild, fear of the purest form etched into fading blue irises.

"No!" she screamed, pinned down only by the medic's strong hands. Many wounds punctured her pale skin, but none bled despite their severity. As though by reflex, Mike dropped to her side and placed a hand against her forehead. She was feverish, body beginning to convulse as she cried out in pain. He could see that the tissue of one badly mangled ankle had begun to change colour, and the faint smell of almonds was perceptible as he leaned close. He had seen this before...

"You know she's infected, right?" he asked. Chris turned his eyes from him, expression falling instantly. It was evident that the thought had crossed his mind, but he was unwilling to accept the possibility.

"Is there anything you can do?" asked the medic, pulling an ampoule from his pack.

"You can put that away," Mike sighed. "Antibiotics won't help. How long ago was she attacked?"

"Almost an hour."

"Shit," Mike breathed. "With the extent of her wounds, her chances are slim. Multiple bites are essentially multiple doses of the virus; the more bites, the quicker it affects the host. The flesh of her left ankle is already showing signs of necrosis. There isn't-"

"Raccoon City," Chris interjected suddenly, crouching down to his level. His mere presence was intimidating and suddenly Chris's trust was the one thing in the world he wished to gain in that moment; better to be trusted than suspected, especially where a man of his strength and reputation was concerned. "Jill Valentine was infected in Raccoon City, and she was administered a serum that suppressed the virus within her system, effectively curing her. Umbrella manufactured this serum, surely you-"

"It was a prototype serum," he sighed. He had read the report, had even enquired about the serum upon joining the unscrupulous ranks of Verisanda. "The Raccoon team had been working on it for decades, and all data pertaining to this 'cure' were lost along with the rest of the city. As far as my analysis of the report is concerned, Valentine did not display any signs of necrotic tissue; if she had, amputation would likely have been unavoidable. What she described - the smell of rotten flesh - was an olfactory hallucination, brought on by the fever induced by the virus. Once the necrotic process extends beyond a small cluster of cells, it is irreversible. Valentine was lucky, that is all."

He thought long and hard about this. There were some prototypes he had been working on, but none had proved successful. There were a couple of samples that had yet to be tested, but he could not inject them directly when he did not know of their effect.

Given the circumstances, was this a risk that was beneficial to take? She was certain to die if they did nothing. This, at least, was something.

"I may be able to help," he voiced. "I can't guarantee anything, but it's better than nothing."

"Do it," the girl pleaded, catching the end of the conversation. "Please...just...make it...stop."

"How much time do we have?" asked Chris.

He did not know. Truthfully, he did not believe that there was much hope.

"The Raccoon serum was apparently developed with the intention of reversing a little of the damage caused by the virus," he explained. "Which is why it suppressed the virus rather than destroy it completely; it used its own mechanisms against it. I worked on the same principles whilst attempting to manufacture a new cure. That may alleviate the gangrene developing in her ankle, if not then we need to get her to a hospital quickly if there is any chance of avoiding amputation. This is assuming that the cure works; as I said, it is still in the early stages of development. Traditionally, the effects of the virus are reversible up until the point where the fever breaks. After this, infection is impossible to control, and the body is too damaged to survive independently of its influence."

"In other words, we need to hurry?" Chris asked, sarcasm dripping from his words. Mike felt as though he could smile, but the situation called for a sombre state of mind. He knew the effects of the T-virus, knew of the horrifying nature of the transformation.

He did not envy that poor girl.

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 11:03pm. Verisanda Technologies. Inner Sanctum, Area 3L.**_

The creature fell against the tiled wall, falling into the resultant splatters of its own blood. Jill did not know how she had wound up leading the team once again, but here she was, working at the point. The others followed her obediently, too scared to break formation.

"You think that's all of them?" Tessa asked nervously.

"No," Jill admitted. "So we should hurry."

Another 'why?' that continued to niggle was the why of the continuation of the mission. Rather than evacuate and head for the nearest exit, they journeyed further and further into the centre of the facility, towards the control room that would give them greater control of the facility.

Leon had claimed that it was nothing they had not handled before, and the priority of the mission was great enough to cover the associated risk. Jill concurred, but could not help but wonder if the opportunity to discover what had happened to Bravo factored into her decision to progress. She hoped that they would be at the checkpoint on time.

The infectees did not pose much of a problem. They were slow, and despite their strength were deceptively easy to disable. A single shot to the head, no need for wasted ammo. She did not dwell on the nature of infection; it was characteristic of Umbrella to infect a facility they knew would soon be raided without a thought for employees in mind.

No sooner had the infectee's body slid lifelessly to the floor, another could be heard, though from which direction Jill could not discern. The others glanced around, Donny and Leon spinning around to cover the area to their rear. Flesh scraped against tile, deep breaths audible from seemingly every direction.

"Where is it?" Abramowitz muttered. Jill dared not breathe a guess.

Then, a hiss permeated the tension, deep and guttural, hitting each and every nerve capable of sensation. She felt Leon freeze behind her, his elbow carelessly knocking hers.

"Oh God..." he exhaled.

Something detached from the high ceiling above them; a large red form that crashed into Tessa. Jill could hear flesh tear as she cried out, blood spilling onto the otherwise spotless floor tiles. They fired before they could identify the assailant, round after round pummelling into thick flesh. Jill holstered her weapon, seizing the opportunity to drag Tessa out from beneath the creature. Blood coated her hands, but she could see that the medic's injuries were superficial at best. In fact, before her wounds had opportunity to be inspected, she had pulled free her own weapon and fired several screaming shots into the exposed parietal tissue of the brain.

In a deafening display of relinquished life, the creature collapsed, tongue lolling out from between disturbingly human teeth.

"Fuck!" Tessa screamed, pressing a hand to the incisions on her upper arm. "Lickers? Where the _fuck_ did they come from?"

Leon kicked the rear leg of the creature but it remained still and silent. But somewhere in the distance, another hiss could be heard, screeching through the silence of the hallway.

"Did we really think that would be it?" she asked upon witnessing Leon's horrified expression.

The attack came from both sides, and suddenly there were simply not enough weapons to provide an adequate defence. A razor-sharp tongue darted past Jill's leg, the appendage ripping the fabric of her fatigues but leaving skin gratefully intact. Another flew towards her, deflected only by a hail of bullets from Abramowitz's weapon.

"Come on," he urged, gripping the collar of her uniform to drag her backwards into an empty laboratory room. Rodents of varying sizes squealed in their cages, gunfire continuing to erupt behind them.

"Leon!" she called out, recognising that they were not being followed as they should have been.

"Get out of here!" she heard him call. "We'll rendezvous later. _Go_!"

She did not think to argue his command. Falling in line behind Abramowitz, she reloaded, slinging the MP5-A3 she carried on her back into a better position. The P8s seemed to have very little effect on the lickers other than to piss them off. Fortunately, the adjoining corridor appeared to be empty, though she knew not to take her surroundings at face value.

The facility appeared to have a rather simple layout; many corridors adjoining several smaller rooms that were evidently utilised in experimental procedures. As a result, most rooms led on to one another and most corridors connected eventually. It was impossible to outrun anything because there were simply too many shortcuts.

"Clear," Abramowitz called.

"Clear," she agreed, seeing nothing of concern to the south end of the corridor. "If we wind around to 3F we can come up behind-"

Abramowitz followed her suddenly diverted gaze, staring fearfully down the North end of the corridor before shrugging. It was likely an infectee; they were easy to dispatch.

"It's times like these we really need backup," he sighed with an attempted smile. "Are you alright?"

"Thanks to you," she smiled. It pleased her to see a sense of camaraderie in a unit that was essentially in the early stages of finding its feet.

Again, a muffled scrape of flesh against floor. It was much too slow to be a licker, too slow to even be an MA model. It was definitely merely an infectee. She shouldered her weapon, unintentionally taking a step closer to her comrade.

"Don't they ever stop?" he growled.

Then suddenly, she found that she gazed at the ceiling. She was unsure what exactly had hit her, only that the ground appeared to have been pulled from beneath her unsuspecting feet. Gunfire sounded above her, Abramowitz stepping forward, no doubt to provide cover until she could find her feet.

"What the fuck-" he began, cut short when his weapon suddenly clattered by Jill's slowly rising form. She made to reach for it, but was pulled roughly to her feet, the powerful firearm forgotten as she was dragged towards the south end of the corridor - away from a possible way to the others.

Something had spooked him, that was for sure, and though it was common sense to know your enemy, she chose to sprint for the door that loomed ever closer rather than take a moment to investigate their assailant. As expected, the lock was engaged. They had accumulated several key cards through their journey, but Leon carried them all. She did not doubt that she would be able to disengage the lock, but it would take time and t did not seem as though they were in possession of such a luxury.

"Come on!" she screamed, bashing her fingers furiously against the electronic keypad.

And then, Abramowitz was gone.

"Kirk?" she whispered, knowing that she would not agree with whatever sight lay behind her.

Then, he reappeared, smashed violently against the doorframe. All she felt able to do was scream, and watch helplessly as something thick, bulbous and vaguely reminiscent of a hand pressed against his skull. He ripped at the flesh with his fingernails and somehow, she succeeded in pulling her knife from her boot, slashing away at sinewy tendons as soon as she had the chance.

His body jerked, and the knife fell from her grasp. Over and over again, his body slammed against the metal frame, bones breaking from the force of the impact. She heard his skull crack beneath the pressure of the oversized appendage, could do nothing but watch in horror as bloodstained fragments of his cranium broke the skin, until his head resembled little more than a battered papier-mâché project.

It was as his broken body fell to the floor that she found the courage to turn.

She had seen nothing quite like it in the five years she had fought bioterrorism. It had once been human, that she did not doubt, but no skin remained on its bloated body, flesh seeming to melt to bone. The left arm had atrophied, leaving nothing but a wrinkled mass of muscle. The right...it trailed across the floor, back to where the creature's body stood over four meters away. With no eyelids or lips, its expression seemed twisted in a permanent sneer.

Before she felt able to react, her form was suddenly slammed against the door, long, thick fingers sliding across her skull. The pressure was immeasurable, pain emanating from every inch of skin that the hand touched. She pulled and pried at the fingers, but they did not budge; only seemed to grip tighter. She was quite sure that her skull would implode, and knew that inevitably that was where this assault led. No amount of panic could dislodge its grip, and she slowly felt the pressure climb past the point of that which was bearable.

"Jill!" Leon's voice called out, startling, it seemed, both her and the creature. The grip loosened, and then relinquished entirely as gunfire rang out.

She dropped to the ground, landing partially on what remained of Abramowitz.

'Now is not the time to mourn,' she reminded herself as she felt tears well within her. Every loss hit her with the force of a familial death, and this was no different. After all, comrades _were_ family, especially in this line of business.

Though the pressure had eased, the echo of pain lingered and she stumbled as she rose.

Leon, she noticed, had stepped dangerously close to the creature - a normal safe distance but well within unexpected range. But as she parted her lips to warn him, she recognised that it was too late. The creature's hand found its way to his shoulder, ripping it from the socket as he was slammed carelessly from wall to wall for three repetitions, his body sinking uselessly to the ground with the final blow. She had witnessed his head strike the plaster, knowing that the blow had been harsh.

She found her weapon before it turned and squeezed the trigger with every scrap of strength that remained within her. Weakened by Leon's previous assault, it was not long before it fell to its knees. Perhaps as a precautionary measure, she slammed in a second clip and fired into its skull at close range, satisfied only when the last pop rang out.

Leon pushed against the ground several meters away, groaning aloud, only to collapse once again beneath his own weight, no movement following this time.

Concerned, Jill rushed to his side, rolling him over onto his back as she checked for broken bones.

"Your shoulder is dislocated," she told him. "I need to reset it but I need to pull you upright first, alright?"

He replied with muttered nonsense, head lolling against his shoulders as she pulled. He was heavier than she anticipated and simply pulling him to the side proved nigh on impossible. As soon as she had placed him into a position that allowed her to work, she set about rotating the dislocated arm, ignoring his pained grunts until it had set correctly.

It was then that she noticed his attention was not quite where it should be.

"Leon," she spoke, placing a hand on his cheek to tilt his head towards hers. "Are you alright? Talk to me."

A groan was all that answered her, unfocused eyes closing slowly.

"No, no!" she called. "Stay with me! Leon!"

"It's not..." he muttered. "Claire..."

She smiled at the mention of their friend's name. It is said that the mind often drifts to that which it holds to great importance in dire moments. That he should think of Claire at such a time spoke more than he would allow his words to.

"Stay with me," she urged, voice softer this time. "You need to stay awake because Claire will be there when this is all over."

The pounding of boots was audible in the distance, and she waited patiently for Tessa and Donny to fall beside her.

Jill moved back as she began her routine, much to Leon's dismay. Donny stared dead ahead, avoiding what he knew lay behind him. There was no possible way they could have emerged into the hallway without catching sight of Abramowitz's body. She could almost hear the thought that no doubt swam through his mind: 'who is next?'.

"I'd say you have a grade II concussion," Tessa announced. "Looks like your participation in this mission is over."

"Go," he muttered, head dropping onto his chest momentarily. "Find...control...should be able...contact base."

"Nuh-uh," Tessa refused. "You're not going anywhere and we can't leave you on your own. I would suggest that Jill go and we stay. I'm not trying to single you out, but you're the most competent out of all of us."

Jill smirked grimly. She was terrified of the prospect of stepping out on her own but knew that it would be unprofessional to let this show. With one teammate dead and another incapacitated, morale could not possibly have been any lower.

"Donny..." Leon sighed. "Go with Donny. Don't...go alone."

Once again, she frowned. Her trust of Donny was not where it should be and, trust aside, she did not feel safe working with anyone when their mind was obviously elsewhere. But as always, the stakes of the mission were high. Leon needed medical attention, as did Tessa; they needed to contact HQ.

Slowly, carefully, she nodded. Tessa's dubious expression spoke what she dared not. But emotion did not carry weight on a mission.

The only way out was onwards.

**AN - Please review :)**


	9. The Cadence of Her Last Breath

**AN** - This is the chapter where my nerves begin to tingle. Seriously, I've been dreading this moment ever since I started this story ^_^. This is the beginning of the end, the start of the climax (did you honestly think the mission was the apex?). As far as the Major is concerned...some may like how I write him, some may hate it, some may call it OOC. But I wrote him how I thought of him. I based his personality on a mix of the games and the novel, and took into account all that would have changed due to the life he led since we last saw him. The main characters have grown, it only makes sense that the antagonists have also evolved. I see him as a man who believes he has all he wants, who believes he is untouchable in a way. Egoism is the downfall of many men. Chapter title is from a song by Nightwish.  
In your opinion, has this story outgrown a 'T' rating? Thinks potentially get worse from here on out, so do you think a rating change is in order? I suck at ratings ,^_^.

Another huge thank you and plethora of hugs to everyone who reviewed - _Chaed, Ninja-Gnome, Razial, tek, Kenshin13, xSummonerYunax, Kudoh_ and _Black Metalmark_. A big hello to the new readers who have reviewed/favourited also! The next chapter won't be up for at least a few weeks, so enjoy the attempt at a cliffhanger ^_^.

* * *

**Blindside**

******_Chapter Eight_**_ - The Cadence of Her Last Breath_

_"With bated breath I lay."_

**_August 22, 2003. 11:17pm. Verisanda Technologies, East Wing._**

Progression through the facility was proving difficult, giving the increasingly worsening condition of Hillary. Mike had assumed the responsibility of sharing her weight with Connolly, but found that his upper body strength was considerably lacking compared to the deceptively slim medic. He was not a soldier; he was a medical research scientist. There was a reason he had always been the last selected for teams in high school.

Chris kept a watchful eye on the newcomer. Something within his gut told him that he could be trusted - he truly wanted to trust the man - but years of experience told him to be wary. There was a traitor amongst the BSAA and as far as he knew, this so-called scientist was a viable candidate.

"Shit...stop," Connolly ordered and suddenly weapons were drawn. There was no reason for vigilance; they had not encountered an infectee in quite some time. It was simply a reflexive reaction.

Weapons were once again lowered when the reason for their sudden halt became evident. Hillary's tremors were now strikingly visible, her skin impossibly pale. The bleeding had slowed, which Chris knew could only mean one thing; time was almost up.

"I c-can't-" Hillary gasped, convulsing in Connolly's arms. He seemed unsure of what to do and simply held her, hoping to offer some comfort. "P-please, j-just..."

"Can't you do something?" Chris asked, stepping close to Mike in what he hoped was an intimidating move.

"I don't know!" Mike insisted angrily. "My lab is too far from here; she'll never make it."

He tested her pulse and shook his head hopelessly.

"She has lost far too much blood," he explained.

"If you ran, could you make it?" Chris asked. He knew that the idea was absurd, but he was willing to try anything. Mike turned to him, looking upon him as a doctor would a madman.

"I could," he admitted warily. "But there is no guarantee-"

"Just do it!" he insisted. "DeChant, go with him."

Mike sighed wearily. It was evident that stress had gotten to him long before they had. Chris did not envy him, but the instinct of mistrust prevented empathy from finding its way into his emotional range. It seemed that Mike had already decided that his presence was simply not comfortable to remain in, and took off quickly and quietly through the doorway they had yet to step through, DeChant following closely behind.

Chris dropped to his knees at Hillary's side as soon as their footsteps faded into the distance and pressed a hand to her forehead. Her skin was clammy, sweat clinging to every hair.

"Can you take her for a little while?" Connolly asked as he relinquished his grip on her. "I need to redress her ankle. Just try to keep her as still as possible."

He did not think about refusing. She did not tremble so violently when she lay in his arms, and the size of her frame felt absurdly small against him. As her head rolled onto his arm he found that he pushed stray strands of hair from the damp skin of her face, more out of reflex than anything else.

"I never thought...it w-would end like this," she shuddered, seemingly oblivious to the work Connolly carried out on her rotting appendage.

"Don't' say that," he hushed, now stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers, trying to usher some feeling to her nerves.

"Look at me," she laughed, spluttering a moment later. Specks of blood were now dotted around her flushed lips, breaths becoming increasingly ragged. "I m-may as well...be dead."

He could think of no words to offer her. Truthfully, he agreed with every thought that she vocalised; there was little that could be done at this point and he knew that Mike did not truly possess a cure. There was no cure for the T-Virus; therein lay the nature of its destructiveness.

Unintentionally, he felt his thoughts drifting back to Jill. Was this how she had suffered as she lay dying in a chapel in Raccoon? Had she been in pain the way Hillary now was? She had once told him that it was not an experience you wanted to live through and, observing his fallen comrade, he agreed with this summary. Though he desperately wished for an end to her suffering, part of him longed to achieve this at the price of taking her life. She had begged for the bullet often enough, and every time he found that his hand dipped ever closer to his holstered firearm.

He did not want her to die, but at what price did the possibility of life come?

"Hey!" he called, noticing the tell-tale droop of her eyelids. If she lost consciousness, they had lost her for sure. "Don't you quit on me now."

Hillary laughed humourlessly, more spluttering following.

"So...t-tired," she mumbled.

"I know you are, but you have to stay awake," he urged, holding her closer as she winced in pain. "Come on, talk to me."

"About...what?" she chuckled, breaths suddenly slowing. Her chest did not rise as frequently now and tremors had ceased to make way for lethargy.

Chris truly did not know what he wished to hear.

"Anything," he told her. "Tell me about your hometown, about your family. Anything, just don't close your eyes."

He saw a smile appear on her lips and knew that he had her. They had already lost Cavanaugh; he did not want to lose her.

"I grew up...in a tiny...backwater town in G-Georgia," she explained. "H-haven't spoken to...my family in...years."

Sadness tinged her words and he wondered if this was a memory best relived in what could possibly be her last moments. Though he held tightly to her body, he could feel her spirit slipping away.

"They...k-kicked me out...when I was...sixteen," she explained, laughing quietly to herself.

Lids slid back over clouded blue eyes and she caught him in her gaze. He had never before realised just how bright her irises were; she was painfully pretty, seeming so unnatural in battered fatigues and the off-pink of torn flesh. She had the type of face that no one could hate; gentle and kind where so many soldiers had lost their optimistic glow in the darkness of war. Even Jill's smile did not shine so brightly these days.

"Why?" he asked softly. The simple thought of a parent abandoning their child riled him to volcanic fury. Family was more than blood, more than an obligation; how could anyone so easily cast aside a loved one?

"Because I thought they...would like to meet...my girlfriend," she smiled. "Alicia. S-she took...me in, helped me...join the Navy."

Chris paused in silence, fingers continuing to stroke her cold cheek. He had known the pain of emerging from adolescence without the nurturing love of a mother or a father. The pain had almost crippled him, but he had struggled on. His parents had died; there was no reason for their departure, no feeling that there could have been something more. They had not abandoned him, had not thrown him out to fend for himself when he had barely found himself. He could not understand the Jones's reasoning. A child was a child, no matter who or what they were. Whether or not they had agreed with her lifestyle choice, they should have supported her, should have-

"You're...the first...colleague I have...told," she revealed. "You don't know...how good that...feels."

And once again, he was speechless. But he knew deep down that her reveal had not been born of trust, but of the desire to release herself of such a burden in the last moment she knew she would have to address it. She was giving up...

"We don't have don't ask, don't tell," he laughed, smiling through his worry. She laughed pitifully in response, eyelids drooping once again.

"But s-still," she whispered. "It's...hard."

He knew that it should not have to be.

"She's...alive, you know?" she breathed, her words barely a tone to a gasp.

"I know," he assured her. Because somehow, he did. Had she perished, he knew that he would have felt it somehow. There would be a hole in his chest forevermore, and strangely, he felt whole.

"She really likes you," he told her. "So you have to hold on, because I'll kick your ass if you make her cry."

And then, with a laugh so faint he barely detected its cadence, the shallow movements of her chest slowed, fear that had moments ago been present in her eyes suddenly fading. Chris reached for her hand, but when his fingers found her they were flaccid.

"Hillary?" he breathed. He knew that there would be no response, but somehow had hoped for it. Her eyes remained open, lips parted but no breath escaping.

Connolly seemed to register the sudden turn and lowered her freshly-bandaged ankle to the ground. Slowly, hesitantly, he felt for a pulse...but found nothing.

And suddenly, sense left the domain of reasoning.

Chris placed gentle fingertips on her eyelids, closing them respectfully. Strangely, his fingers trembled as they moved, something tugging within his chest as he pressed softly on cold skin.

Death to him had always been a violent, riotous occurrence. The high-speed collision that had ended the lives of his parents, the cries of Joseph Frost as a pack of snarling cerberus tore through his ribcage...even the shrieking demise of Alexia Ashford. Never before had he watched the light fade, felt it slip helplessly through desperate fingers.

The poets of old had gotten it terribly wrong; there was nothing beautiful about death.

And all the while, he witnessed Jill's face where Hillary's had once been, pleading for death as fingernails stripped away layer upon layer of skin in a futile attempt to gain some relief from whatever itch had plagued her in those moments. It was not fair that they had to suffer, was not right no matter which way he twisted it.

"There was nothing we could have done," Connolly assured him, tension radiating from his stationary form. But Chris knew that he was wrong; there was so much more they could have done. They could have planned better, could have equipped themselves for the scenario of an ambush. They should have _known_.

His eyes once again fell to her marred face, to the skin that had already settled into an unhealthy shade of death. She had been twenty-six years old; younger than him...younger than Jill. Of all the recruits, she had been the most promising, had shown unswerving dedication and ability to match it. She had volunteered for the cause, where he had been pulled into it; there was no obligation to her actions, simply a good heart.

It was not anger that rose within, but something a little more difficult to handle.

"Chris, you okay?" Connolly asked.

He refused to answer, to admit, and instead rose to his feet, setting her body on the ground. As the unwelcome block in his chest rose to his throat, he turned from the medic, fingers buried in hair that felt damp to the touch.

'Cavanaugh...'

Somehow, Hillary's death had hit him harder than any had in years. Even with death in his hands, he could not stave away its icy touch.

He needed Jill, and he knew it. Somehow, she always knew the right words to say and on the occasion she did not, a simple reassuring touch was sufficient to put his mind at ease. But she was not here, was perhaps where Hillary now roamed. Had she suffered as Hillary had, returning to the moments in Raccoon that she would rarely address. If she was alive, how long until the virus claimed her? She remained infected to an extent, and the simple thought that the virus lived within her system drove him to the brink. All the effort he put into protecting those around him was futile. His sudden departure from Raccoon led Claire to be kidnapped, and Jill to be infected. Now, two teammates were dead and five colleagues were MIA. To what extent did he hold blame?

Yes, he needed her, now more than ever. If for nothing else, then to hold her and somehow assure her that he would never let her go. Because as long as he had her, he had everything.

Now, he doubted that he would ever be given the chance. He always knew that he would be lost without her...he simply never expected to be proven right.

* * *

**_August 22, 2003. 11:20pm. Verisanda Technologies, Administrative Offices._**

Surprisingly, it transpired that Donny was far more competent than he was given credit for. His skittish demeanour made way for a far more professional state once his mind was allowed the time to slip back into focus and suddenly he was more help than she had honestly expected.

"Do you know where we're going?" he asked, keeping skilfully in step with her. The reasons for his hiring were slowly becoming evident.

"The control room is in the main hub of the facility," Jill explained. "Surrounded by the administrative offices...we must be close."

Strangely, the corpses that littered the large office area they currently tip-toed through did not move; some bore visible gunshot wounds to the head, others lay headless against the green carpet. It was apparent that they were not the first to have passed through this area.

"You think it's Bravo?" Donny asked, voice echoing her thoughts. The shots were not precise enough to have been administered by Chris, but he would likely not have been travelling at the point if he maintained control of the team.

'Or he could have died before they reached this area.'

She cursed her pessimism and shook her head. He had to be alive, he just had to. She had not yet apologised...

"Hey," Donny spoke suddenly, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. "It's okay to show a little emotion, you know? We're not drones...we're only human."

It was not his words that forced her weapon to lower, but the faint tremor she could feel in the hand that remained on her shoulder. It appeared that she was not the only one to mask her emotions. But she would not let the tears show, and instead choked them back. There was too much on the line; lives depended on them.

"Let's move," she told him, and the hand disappeared. She knew that he understood, and that was the key aspect of camaraderie. The powers that be simply did not know how life was on the front lines. They preferred their soldiers to be emotionally detached, to follow a strict set of protocols and adhere to them even as their comrades lay in pieces at their side. Leave no man behind, but what about the man at your side? Should you not comfort him?

Donny's timid nature was familiar to her, and she could not help but foresee tragedy. He was too much like Brad Vickers, and as with Brad Vickers, she suspected that bravery truly did linger within, but there would be no opportunity for it to develop into anything more than a hopeful wish.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for your loss," he was sure to let her know.

"No loss," she found herself saying, tongue acting independently of her mind. "He's alive...they all are."

She heard him laugh softly, and it was genuine. Such a sweet sound through the chaos.

"Yes," he agreed. "They are."

* * *

**_August 22, 2003. 11:25pm. Verisanda Technologies, East Wing._**

The clatter of their steps reached the others before they stumbled through the doorway, but no sooner had Mike and DeChant entered the over-furnished room, silence fell once again upon the group.

"You're too late," Connolly told them, knowing that they had already seen what had become of Hillary.

"I...my lab was gone," Mike told them regardless, evidently in a daze as his eyes were trained carefully on the corpse at Chris's feet. "Nothing but rubble..."

Chris dared not question further. Alpha had been in that section, had inevitably been in the centre of the blast zone.

'No...they made it to safety.'

Of course they had. But why did he doubt himself?

"Is there any way out of here?" he asked. Deep down, he already knew the answer.

"There is an entrance back south," Mike explained amid attempts to catch his breath. "But the structure may have been compromised by the blast. Otherwise, we could...I suppose our only option is to find a hole in the debris that is big enough to crawl through."

For some reason, laughter pushed past his sealed lips. Was this what they were forced to resort to? Crawling through rubble in the hopes that they would eventually find fresh air?

He did not like to accept it, but it became increasingly obvious that they were, in one word, screwed.

But then something caught his attention; a steady beat, like boots against tile. He surveyed the others, counting a quick tally in his head. They were all here - nobody unaccounted for.

"Alpha?" DeChant theorised, eyes alight with the first glimmer of hope any had seen in quite some time.

They raised their weapons as a precaution, smiles barely held back.

A single shot impacted off his vest, propelling him back into the waiting wall. Given the opportunity, he had succeeded in tilting his head to a position that did not secure unconsciousness, but the confusion lingered. The vest had saved his life, but to what extent? It sure as hell was not Alpha who had found them.

Vaguely, he discerned tall, black figures through his suddenly hazy vision, gunfire erupting around him but no shot finding its target. The room was too small, too cramped; it was difficult to get off an effective shot without risking self-injury. Nevertheless, he fired his handgun and was surprised to find that it swept a figure off its feet, rupturing a shoulder before a shot from DeChant's weapon put it down.

These were not tyrants, were not monsters - these were human, and very much alive.

A gloved hand hauled him to his feet, slammed him onto a nearby desk. A cry that unmistakeably belonged to Mike screeched through the furore, light catching the blade that descended rapidly. But he gripped the wrist of his assailant, twisted violently until he felt bone crack. He had accidentally broken the wrist of another boy in high school in a similar way - he had truly been asking for it, starting a fight with the notoriously volatile Chris Redfield. However, the healthy hand pulled free and the knife returned, slicing into the skin of his upper arm. Again, it retracted, only to fall again, this time poised at a perfect angle to descend through his eye.

But the aim never made true. The body that attempted to hold him down turned, a deep, masculine voice crying out in pain from beneath the mask. It was enough time for Chris to slide out, to land painfully on the floor and retrieve his fallen weapon.

It was Hillary - she clung to the leg of the masked figure with voracious desperation, black fabric and pink flesh hanging from between her lips. Her eyes were white, fingernails digging into the ruptured calf.

But her short foray into the afterlife was brought to an end with a series of bullets to the back of the head, hair matted around the wounds. Likewise, the life of the assailant was brought to an abrupt end, as the jagged remains of what Chris assumed to be a mop handle found his eye in a similar manner to his knife's previous movements towards Chris. Between the weapon and the shattered remains of his goggles, the man did not stand a chance.

Two more fell at his side, and finally only one was left. Evidently, they had underestimated the strength of so few - or at least a very angry scientist with a broken mop.

And then, there were none.

Connolly caught Mike as he fell, blood seeping through the leg of his uniform.

"Another medical emergency, huh?" Mike laughed. How he could find humour in such a dire situation was beyond Chris. There may have been more men out there, more threats simply waiting to pounce.

Connolly applied pressure as Mike winced in pain. Perhaps his humour was not born from pessimism, but more the morbid hilarity of the knowledge that they would likely not make it through the night.

It was a fact proven to be true when the distant rumble of approaching feet once again echoed throughout the hallway. Each man shouldered their weapons, though the remains of the mop remained cast aside.

But this time, the attire of the intruders was a little more familiar, and the weapons fell no sooner than they had risen.

"Agent Redfield," the foremost intruder acknowledged. "You called for back up?"

* * *

**_August 22, 2003. 11:43pm. Verisanda Technologies, Administrative Offices._**

The deeper they ploughed into the womb of the facility, the more intriguing their surroundings became. Elaborate security measures were visible to Jill's trained eye, though none reacted to their presence. Perhaps they had been deactivated by the surge?

"Not far now," Donny noted. They had all memorised the blueprints, but somehow they did not help.

"Keep in step," she urged him. But she felt hypocritical as her attention diverted, scanning documents that were scattered around what she assumed to be a private work station. Whoever it belonged to appeared to have been printing something in quite a hurry before...

She frowned lightly, making to step away, but something caught her eye. One letter, emblazoned at the top on a single sheet against the keyboard - 'G'.

"What?" she whispered quietly. Was this the information they had been sent to extract?

As she leafed through the documents, she found that it was nothing the BSAA - or the government for that matter - did not already know. Basic reports, field data, specimen files...

Another sheet slipped through her fingers and she caught it clumsily as it made for the carpeted floor.

'T-Veronica'.

It was not a virus she was familiar with, but she had heard of it. Chris and Claire had encountered the dangerous virus, and its delusional creator.

'This was the virus Wesker procured,' she recalled, eager anticipation rising within her. 'That must mean...'

She was not even granted sufficient time to conclude her thoughts before she was compelled to dig deeper and deeper into the pile. More virus reports, experimental data, conclusions of T-Virus trials... Surely there must be something there that would lead her to him, would give her at least a whisper of his whereabouts.

'When that bastard dies, we get our lives back,' she fumed inwardly. But how much of their lives were left to salvage? Her recent dealings with Chris had taught her that even the art of relationships escaped her. She tried to discern a meaning of 'normal' but just could not quite picture it. It had the quality of a word that was spoken continuously, until the taste was unfamiliar and the rhythm foreign.

"Jill," Donny spoke softly. She did not care if her sudden switch in behaviour had unnerved him; it was here, it had to be!

"Jill, stop," he urged.

There was something in his voice. Fear? No, this was not quite of the calibre of fear. Apologetic nervousness, tinged with reluctance. But why?

Jill turned slowly, horrified reasoning dawning upon her. It was not entirely unexpected; cowardice did amazing things to a man. But she had never suspected the young recruit of being a coward...

"It's you?" she whispered, unsure of herself even in that moment. Why else would he have begged her to cease an investigation? Was there something amongst those papers that would implicate him?

Hid eyes widened and this time it was horror that flickered across his irises.

"J-just list-" he began. But he was cut short by the sudden explosion of the muscle in his left shoulder. Bloody fragments flew from the epicentre, collarbone likely shattering from the impact of the bullet.

He fell to the floor in an instant, head slamming hard against the weave. She did not know if he was alive or dead, but knew that suddenly she was not alone.

* * *

**_August 22, 2003. 11:45pm. Verisanda Technologies, Exterior. Temporary BSAA Base._**

The medic gave up on the third try, thrusting pain killers into Chris's palm and clearing him in frustration. He was not gravely injured, he knew this himself. Lying in the medical bay would not help the situation - he needed to be out there, assisting the others.

"Redfield," Parker chuckled as he approached a gathering he assumed to involve those placed in charge. "I guess it's true what they say; you _are_ a juggernaut."

"Whatever," Chris growled angrily. The throbbing pain in his temples showed no signs of subsiding, and there mere thought alone drove him almost to blind rage. "What is the situation?"

Parker cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

"The warehouse has been cleared," he explained. "There wasn't much left of Cavanaugh to retrieve but... Uh, the entire West side of the base was reduced to rubble but so far the only bodies recovered are of staff members."

"No word on Alpha?" he asked, remaining more composed than he had expected. He had to know.

Parker shook his head morosely.

"Though the rescue team reported hearing gunfire further into the base," he revealed. "We're assembling a new search and rescue team as we speak."

"Alright, get me a radio," Chris demanded, and Parker acquiesced without complaint. "I want everyone willing to march out at my side in two minutes. Davies, blueprints. Not those ones - the other ones."

A sudden flurry of movement surrounded him beneath the hastily-erected gazebo. He truly did not know what would happen or even what he would be required to do, but the stand to attention at least ensured him that the others had his back. The distant roar of trucks pulling into the sorry excuse for a base was jarring, but he tuned it out and soon it melted with the other background noise.

"With your permission, I'd like to join you, sir," Connolly announced as he jogged up to the table, Parker waving his hands in exasperation behind him. DeChant was hot on his heels, his eyes relaying a similar message.

"Thank you," Chris breathed, suddenly overwhelmed by the support offered to him by two exhausted men. "How is Mike?"

Connolly seemed taken aback that he had thought to ask.

"He'll live," he assured his superior. "He's on his way to hospital now, drugged up to the eyeballs."

Chris made a mental not to thank the man; had it not been for his actions, he surely would have been dead by now. But what did one send as an appreciative gift? A card? Flowers? Chocolates? He had not a single clue; it was more Jill's area of expertise.

He shook the sudden darkness from his mind. The situation was once again under his control; he had an opportunity to find her and he was not going to pass it up. Those gunshots had belonged to Alpha, he was almost sure of it.

'You're forgetting one important detail,' he reminded himself. 'Gunshots mean trouble...conflict.'

He willed his pessimism to take a hike and began to bark orders, words forming of their own volition on the tip of his tongue.

* * *

**_August 22, 2003. 11:50pm. Verisanda Technologies, Administrative Offices._**

Jill turned to gaze upon the face of her sudden rescuer. Rescuer? Had she been in danger?

Tessa held her weapon on the end of an outstretched arm, pointing at the space Donny had occupied moments before. Then, she lowered her weapon, training it on his unmoving form.

"Thank...you?" Jill muttered. She was confused. What had just happened? It was all a hazy blur.

Tessa paid no heed to her words, simply inspected Donny's unmoving form from afar. Was he dead?

"Where is Leon?" Jill asked, suddenly realising that their injured teammate was suspiciously absent.

"Where you left him," she replied, voice emotionless. She seemed far too interested in the maimed man on the floor. "He was worried, told me to find you. Are you okay?"

And then their eyes finally met and Jill found that her shoulders relaxed. The icy sensation of confusion lingered, accompanying fear that often travelled as a companion to the unknown. She was visited by the strange feeling that this was the end...but perhaps not the one that she was looking for. Every instinct rang warning bells, but she did not recognise their tune.

"I'm fine," she assured the medic, laughing a little at her trepidation.

"Good," was all Tessa had to say.

And all Jill gazed at now was the barrel of a gun.

"I guess you can disarm yourself then," Tessa spoke coldly. She could see in her eyes just how deadly serious her 'comrade' was. "What? You honestly didn't expect this?"

At this realisation, a short, sharp chuckle met Jill's ears.

"I suppose next to stereotypically untrustworthy Donny, I was a Godsend, huh?" she smiled. "It's always the quiet ones you expect, when truly it should be those that meet your words with warmth and kindness. It's so much easier to manipulate people with friendship. Now place your weapon on the floor and kick it beneath the desk. The knife, too."

Years of training had told her to do exactly what her captor instructed. There was always time for escape later; there was nothing to be achieved by fighting a loaded gun. Diplomacy worked, but only if she was alive to see it through.

"And the jacket, bitch," Tessa spat.

There was nothing hidden in the jacket, save for a small blade woven into the cuff. It would have done her no good, but it was something at least. Now it was nothing. All that remained beneath the skin of her torso and air were a khaki tank and a sports bra that had so far proven more irritating than useful. No holsters, no weapons...just her.

"Is this the part where you gloat about how you double-crossed us?" she asked sarcastically. "What about the famous brag, the reveal of your plans?"

"How stupid do you think I am?"

Jill refrained from answering.

"Oh, so you don't really care?" she laughed.

"Not really," Tessa shrugged. "You're nothing to me."

Again, Jill laughed humourlessly, waiting for something to give. Did she honestly expect that she would be able to frog-march a founding member of the BSAA out of the facility, through their ranks and to freedom?

Tessa smiled perversely, apparently reading her expression.

"You can drop that hope I see in your eyes," she laughed. "You're not leaving this base. I don't know what exactly he is going to do with you but it's going to be messy. They'll barely be able to mop you up."

He?

For some reason, the inflexion on this word sent fear through her bones. The Tessa before her was not the Tessa she had come to know. Perhaps this was the real Tessa? Cold, uncaring...

"Oh look, I bragged," she laughed again. "That actually felt good. Now move."

Jill stepped in front of her, allowing her shoulders to relax. There were many questions to which she wished to know the answer, but realised that they would only provoke the owner of the gun that pressed into the base of her skull.

The corridor ahead wound past as soon as they left the administrative offices, the décor once again becoming clinical. She knew from the blueprints that the control room lay up ahead. It was the hub of the facility, the place from which control over the entire base was granted. She could fight off a girl several pounds lighter than her, and could hold her own against a man; it would be simple to gain the upper hand and then she would be at the helm - she could find Bravo and radio for assistance.

Yes, it was better if she played along at this point.

Tessa was rough as she pushed her towards an open door, the hum of electronic equipment audible as soon as they stepped into the room. Jill glared angrily over her shoulder, sizing up the elder woman for weaknesses.

"Ah, finally," a masculine voice boomed. "I was beginning to worry that you weren't going to make it."

His tone was childish, teasing...and familiar. The accent was Eastern European, though not as strong as it had been the last time she had heard its rhythm. And it had been many years...

She did not quite believe her ears, and could not bring herself to confirm her suspicion visually.

_"You have two choices...either you come quietly or I drag you kicking and screaming."_

And then she turned. Sure enough, the silver hair she had expected stared back at her; angular jaw set; wide, thin lips twisted into a cruel, self-assured smirk.

"Nicholai?"

**AN - Please review :)**


	10. The Game

**AN** - This chapter is primarily a filler chapter, but hopefully the next chapter will be up quite soon. The story is steadily drawing to a close, and I have started official plans for a concluding part of the trilogy. I'll admit that this story didn't quite turn out the way I had hoped and I have struggled with it, so I'm trying my best to learn from my mistakes and I'm pretty much returning to my roots with the final installment. It will follow the themes of Strength Through Wounding and Only Through The Pain, and I've taken into account all comments and I'm aiming to build on what was liked and improve on what was not so hopefully it will be a more worthy sequel to STW. I can't help but wonder what I'm getting myself into lol. I'm hoping to actually add something to my profile page and when I do there will likely be more information on there so check back around the time of the next update. Chapter title is from a song by Disturbed.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed: _Chaed, Kenshin13, xSummonerYunax, Black Metalmark, Landquake, Ninja-Gnome, tek, Razial_ and _Ivilith._ I don't know what I can say that has not already been said, so I'll just say a _huge_ thank you! A shamefully belated thank you also to _.-SnipingWolf_, who helped me immensely when I became stumped while writing last chapter. Thank you!

* * *

**Blindside**

_**Chapter Nine **__- The Game_

_'Do you think that we could play another game?  
Maybe I can win this time?'_

_**August 22, 2003. 11:50pm. Verisanda Technologies. Control Room.**_

"This is...impossible," Jill breathed. She could not decipher the message attached to the emotional brick that dropped in her stomach, but knew that whatever this strange feeling was, it was not good.

"And yet it is so," he laughed. Glee filled every word; he spoke as a child unwrapping a shiny new bicycle. "Trust me, I was equally surprised to find that you survived Caucasus. First the Nemesis, then T.A.L.O.S.; I admit that I underestimated you the first time we met."

"The _only_ time we met, you back-stabbing son of a bitch," she politely reminded him.

But Nicholai simply smiled, too pleased with the turn of events to sway from blissful happiness.

"You forgot murderous," he pointed out. "So I'd watch your tongue if you don't want it removed."

There was a cold edge to his voice that had not been present before; an edge as sharp as a razor, whittled to perfection by years of experience. Just what exactly had he been involved in over the years since Raccoon's destruction? He had no qualms killing an innocent back then; had he been honing his skills over the years? Just how many of Umbrella's enemies had fallen at his hands? How many of their allies?

"Hold up," Tessa interrupted, having been momentarily forgotten in the sudden rush of reunion. "I want my money, or all you'll be doing is scraping her brains off your collar."

"Of course," he realised, and reached for a set of steel handcuffs that rested by the security monitors. There were, she noticed, no signs of Bravo within the walls of the facility; had they escaped? She felt a sudden surge of hope. Chris was alright, had made it to safety. Somehow, nothing else mattered.

"I want double," Tessa demanded, their conversation playing as background noise to her thoughts. When Tessa inevitably left, she would be able to handle Nicholai easily. She had outsmarted him before, had escaped with her life when a considerable bounty rested upon her head; when his incentive would have been far greater than the current.

"I never signed up to be mutilated. Hell, I could be infected!"

"Then what use is money to you?"

Would Chris welcome her with open arms? Or would he turn from her as she had from him? She would not blame him if he did.

"Twenty mil. and she's all yours."

"Very well. Place these on her and the transaction is complete."

Something whizzed through the air and suddenly, the cold sting of metal touched her wrists. She considered fighting but knew that it would be useless. Besides, the lock would be simple; she could quite literally pick it with her hands tied behind her back.

No sooner had the final cuff clicked into place, a loud crack erupted through the silence, and the weapon that pressed into the base of her skull vanished. She turned, but evidently not quick enough. Tessa was dead before she hit the floor, the smoking barrel of Nicholai's gun seemingly trained on Jill's right ear.

She saw an opportunity, and she seized it. Ducking low, moving fast, she aimed a shoulder into his ribcage. He wore no armoured vest, simply a white T-shirt; the blow would wind him and give her just the opportunity she needed. His muscle mass had increased since their previous encounter, and his height had never been more strikingly evident, but where he was strong she knew that he was also slow, and therein lay her advantage.

But her shoulder never connected. In one swift move, his elbow collided painfully with the side of her head, his leg catching hers to send her crashing to the ground. She felt the impact in every bone, crying out as her hip jarred painfully against the tile.

"Rule number one," Nicholai spoke calmly. "Don't do that."

And then his boot collided with her ribcage. From the force of the blow, she was amazed that her ribs did not crack. Three more were enough to wind her completely; standing would be too painful now, fighting even less of an option.

"Now...we have a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

_**August 22, 2003. 11:57pm. Verisanda Technologies, Exterior. Temporary BSAA Base.**_

The details had been finalised as best as was possible, and a plan with a slightly higher than average chance of succeeded had been formulated. They were moving out.

Chris could barely contain himself, willing the cataclysmic build-up of hope within his heart to lay low lest the search and rescue operation turn up nothing. All that kept him going was the knowledge that she would be back in his arms soon, whether she liked it or not.

"We're ready when you are, sir," DeChant nodded, a picture of exhaustion. Chris had contemplated ordering him and an equally tired Connolly to rest, but he recognised the expression of determination within their eyes; they were loyal to him and to the team, but their offer was born of a genuine desire to help, not an obligation.

A ruckus seemed to descend towards their group, Parker's voice audible above a flurry of unfriendly words. He sensed the two men draw closer before they reached the unsteady gazebo, several armed soldiers jogging quickly behind them.

"Get off my back, you irritating man!" cried a voice he recognised as that of Carlos. Parker threw his hands up in defeat and turned to Chris, who was slowly beginning to believe that no situation within the BSAA's control could be managed. There was a lot of work to be done if the unit was to become fully operational; they sure had their work cut out for them.

"What are you doing here?" he asked Carlos, narrowing his eyes at him. Their relationship had never been a good one; truth be told, he barely knew the man. It was his choice and he stood by it to that day. He did not care if Jill trusted him and despite being thankful that he had saved her life, he wished that his plans for an indefinite vacation following the demise of Umbrella had been a little more permanent.

He knew that many men found Jill attractive; she was beautiful, how could they not? His old Air Force buddies had joked about it but had never expressed a genuine interest in her. They were his friends and they respected that she was his girlfriend - and also knew that they would be in for a long stay in the ICU if they so much as leered at her. But Carlos never hid his attraction towards her, never disguised the fact that, given the chance, he would have happily stepped into the role of boyfriend. Carlos Oliveira was the only man to have ever made him genuinely possessive and territorial. Jill was loyal, he knew that, but the casual flirtatious nature of her friend riled him into dangerous jealousy.

"He stowed away on one of the transports," Parker spat. "He shouldn't be-"

"That's enough, Parker," he warned. "Go-"

But another voice cut him off, forcing an involuntary roll of the eyes; was there no peace?

"Sir, we found Kennedy," the red-faced man panted, barely skidding to a stop in time to prevent a collision. He was a young recruit, and a member of the scout team he had sent ahead of their squad. "A-Abramowitz, too."

Chris wasted no time, and followed his lead to the medical bay, watching as a stretcher rolled across the uneven ground. Upon it lay a black bag, the contents evidently human. The knot within his stomach tightened, colour draining from his face.

"Abramowitz," the young recruit explained. "There was Bandersnatch carcass nearby. We, uh...we had to ID the remains via his tags, sir."

"Where were they?" he asked, spotting a second stretcher a little way in the distance.

"Close to the administrative offices," the recruit answered. "We think they were heading to the control room. It seems they were ambushed, but they took down everything in their path. No sign of the others yet; we're doing a quick sweep of the foremost offices, but it's too dangerous to proceed any further."

If they had made it to the control room, surely they would have received word by now? The technicians had assured him that something was jamming all signals in and out of the base, save for the main frequency. It was obvious that it was intentional, which could only mean that at least one of the enemy remained alive within the walls.

"How is he?" he asked as Leon's stretcher approached them. His body lay between blankets, no black bag in sight, though his eyes remained closed, form limp and lifeless.

"Unconscious. A dislocation in his shoulder was set, so at least one of the others survived. The area was secure; it's possible they left him and made for the control room to radio for help."

Chris ruminated over this for a short while; Jill would never have left an injured soldier behind unless other lives weighed into the equation. At the very least, Donny and Tessa survived.

"Sir, we have another!" cried a voice in the distance, a second stretcher rolling from a gap in the broken fence. Upon the sheets, Chris vaguely recognised a small, blood-soaked form, head moving gently from one side to another as Donny attempted to take in his surroundings.

The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he jogged closer to the wounded soldier, choosing to ignore the protests of medical staff.

"Are there any other survivors?" he asked. Donny blinked, eyelids barely remaining open long enough to register the face of his superior.

"I...maybe," he gasped. "Tessa, she- she-"

His head lolled to the side, eyes closing softly.

"He needs medical attention, sir," a blonde-haired medic urged. "He has lost a lot of blood."

"We couldn't proceed any further, sir," added a member of the scout party, frustration building steadily within Chris's skull. "Security systems have been activated in the main atrium; we can't get to the control room this way."

There was a trail of bodies leading to this locked door; whatever was behind it, Jill was trapped with. The irony that she was perhaps the only agent in their employ who could quickly break through the lock did not go amiss. He truly wished that he had paid more attention when she attempted to teach him her 'tricks'.

"Any sign of Valentine or Newburn?" he asked.

"No, sir, but-"

"Sir!" An unsteady hand moved to his sweat-coated forehead at the addition of yet another voice to the din. He felt that his mind simply did not work at an adequate capacity to keep up with all that was being offered to him. Was he the only officer in charge?

"Chris," Carlos breathed. "I need-"

"Not now, Carlos," Chris snapped before turning to the more inexperienced agent. "What is it?"

"We have received a radio transmission from within the facility, sir," the agent explained. "They claim to be the leader."

Even Carlos remained silent at this revelation, and followed Chris closely as he returned to the communications tent. Truly, he did not know what to expect but a transmission offered answers and that was all he sought.

Parker handed the mouthpiece over instantly before moving back a few respectful steps. All eyes were on him now, every ear pricked. It was all on him now.

"This is Agent Chris Redfield of the BSAA," he spoke into the mouthpiece. "To whom am I speaking?"

There was a brief pause before a quiet chuckle echoed through the speakers. It was the laugh of a man who had found a joke in innocent words.

"Mr. Redfield," the voice spoke after a few short moments. "What a pleasant surprise."

The voice was not familiar to him, but though he did not have an ear for accents, he assumed it to be Russian, though evidently its bearer had spoken English for quite some time.

"Oh God..." Carlos's voice came as a raspy breath, tanned hand covering his mouth a moment later. Worry was evident in his eyes but Chris had more pressing matters to address.

"Ah, and I believe that is Mr. Oliveira?" The voice laughed again. "It has been a long time Carlos, I hope you are well?"

Every eye was placed on the pacing man, who shrunk away, flopping into a nearby chair in what could only be described as hopeless defeat.

"I had hoped he was dead..." he whispered.

"This will make things much easier," spoke the leader.

"Surrender," Chris ordered, his blood boiling at the mere sound of his voice. This man was responsible for the deaths of good men, and for the suffering of many more. Hillary, Kirk, Gregory...the sound of each of their names snipped a heartstring with every mention. "We have the base surrounded, there is nowhere for you to run."

Again, gentle laughter. Just what did this man find so damn hilarious?

"Oh, that's not going to happen," he told him. His voice carried the word as a statement of fact, as true as though it were carved into stone. It was not that he hoped that it would not happen; it simply would not, and he held this truth alongside such statements as 'grass is green' and 'sleeping on train tracks will get you killed'.

"And why not?" Chris asked, trying to maintain a level head and a voice that reflected this. There was something about the way this leader spoke his words that elicited nervousness; a feeling he was not quite accustomed to under these circumstances.

"He asked why not," the leader laughed, speaking to an unheard individual at his end. "Tell him why not."

Chris was not sure what to expect, did not adequately brace himself for what was to come.

"Chris?"

It was Jill. Her voice was weary and dazed, but she was alive. She was alive!

"Jill!" he gasped, stomach unravelling and heart suddenly thawing. But the penny soon dropped, and he realised just what her survival meant. She was a hostage, captive; for how long would she remain alive?

"Don't believe a word he says," she urged. "Don't-"

"And I think that is enough, thank you, Miss Valentine," chuckled the leader.

"Dammit, what-" Chris began, but was not afforded a further word to speak.

"I think that is enough for now," the leader spoke. Chris could hear a smile on his voice. "Allow the gravity of this situation to sink in. I'll be in touch soon."

And then he was gone.

The weight of what lay before him was enough to drag him to the ground. Jill, captive. And this man...

"Who is he?" he asked simply, jaw set. Every member of the gathering knew who he addressed. "He recognised your voice; who is he?"

Carlos swallowed, hand rubbing the back of his neck. Had Chris been in a position to witness his expression, his heart surely would have plummeted to oblivion.

"Nicholai Ginovaef," Carlos answered. "He was...a sergeant within the UBCS. He was one of the leaders who double-crossed us. He was part of 'Operation Watchdog', whose purpose was to gather Umbrella's data during the downfall of the Raccoon. But he had a megalomaniacal mind and killed the other operatives, stealing their data so he could reap the rewards for himself."

Chris listened intently. He had heard of Nicholai Ginovaef, but only in passing. Was he the man who had almost stranded Carlos and Jill in Raccoon?

"When I met Jill I was working with Nicholai and another operative named Mikhail Victor," Carlos continued. "We were the sole survivors of our team; Mikhail was injured, which I later discovered was Nicholai's doing. We appeared to lose Nicholai, but it transpired that he faked his own death. He attempted to kill me whilst I was searching for an antidote for the T-virus and it was he who destroyed Raccoon General Hospital. After Jill left the chapel we holed up in, he went after her. Apparently there was a bounty on her head that he wanted to collect. He escaped from Raccoon shortly before we did. I...kind of hoped he had perished in the downfall. Obviously not."

It was information Chris had more or less come to know along the years; nothing that could help their situation. Who was Nicholai? What kind of man was he? How should they approach him?

"Okay," he spoke softly; a moment of weakness before his game face slipped back into place. "I want every scrap of information you can find on this guy. Velasquez, I want you on hand to trace the communication next time it comes through. Parker, I want blueprints. Carlos, I want you to tell Granger everything you know about this Nicholai guy. Everyone else, make yourselves useful."

Busy was the best way to keep his mind, he realised. The thought of her alone with this traitorous bastard was enough to make the blood freeze in his veins. But that would not do. If she were to make it through this alive, he needed all his wits about him and he knew that the only way that this was possible was to remain detached from the situation.

But this was Jill; the love of his life. It was a matter that could not help being personal.

* * *

_**August 23, 2003. 12:05am. Verisanda Technologies. Control Room.**_

"Well, that was an interesting conversation," Nicholai chuckled. "Don't you think so?"

"Drop dead," Jill suggested. The room continued to spin, and the waves of nausea that passed through her were becoming increasingly difficult to subdue. He was a lot stronger than she remembered; every bone in her body felt as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces.

She straightened her posture, slumped against the wall next to the open doorway. Tessa's crumpled body lay barely a few feet away. His coldness in her execution had shocked her; he had changed, had hardened into something she knew she should be very afraid of. But memories lingered and all she could see was a misguided megalomaniacal fool with ideas bigger than his abilities.

Though she recognised that he could quite easily kill her, she knew that he would not afford her a death as quick and painless as the medic's had been. Somehow, death seemed inevitable.

She had witnessed so much death and destruction in her life, so much suffering that it made sense that it would one day find its way to her. She did not fear the prospect of death, had in fact prepared herself for it long ago. But did she truly want to die? No, no she did not. For once in her life, she had something pretty damn special to lose.

'And fate wouldn't be fate if it didn't take it away,' she sighed pessimistically.

"So, how about we start with what I can expect from this unit of yours?" he asked calmly. Nothing about the situation seemed to shake him.

"Do you actually expect me to tell you?" she laughed. He was foolish if he thought that she would.

"No," he admitted. "It is of no real concern to me. However, if I were in your shoes I would keep up the conversation as long as possible. It's something to distract me, you see. I'm already growing bored, who knows what I could do?"

She felt no true intention behind his words, but it was the words alone that brought chills to her aching bones. She was given a sense of the meaning 'I could...but will I?'.

"Tell me about Chris," he asked, a more friendly tone to his voice now. She knew better than to believe it. "Don't look so surprised; it's obvious you two are involved. I remember snippets of conversation from Raccoon...so many years, you finally-"

"Shut up!" she snapped. He had no right to talk about Chris. His voice defiled his name.

"Oh, a reaction!" he exclaimed. "Don't worry; I have no intention of hurting him. Well...insofar as hurting you will go, because I have every intention in that respect."

The cuffs at her wrists jingled as she twisted, pain flaring through tired limbs.

"I wonder just how much he will let you suffer for the sake of protocol," he mused.

Of course, protocol. Things were so much easier when they called the shots and made the rules. But now there were regulations to follow and steps to take before action was cleared. Had their positions been reversed, she would have done anything and everything to rescue Chris, but knew that the restraints of God damn protocol would hold her back.

She could be dead before the idea of a rescue mission was considered.

But why was she still alive? Surely he wanted something from her, or at least to use her for some end. As long as his goals remained unmet, she was safe. Well, in a manner that was purely relative.

"You are a thorn in many an ass," he smiled. "Chris, too. The bounty may no longer be on your heads, but the price of your demise is a less tangible one these days. If it were not for the efforts of you and your teammates, our work would be less of a hassle."

"So you're going to kill me because I'm a nuisance?" she laughed.

"No," he disagreed. "I'm going to make you beg for death because I don't like you. It's as simple as that."

And suddenly she could not fake a smile. He had not yet laid a finger on her, but she knew the moment he would was inevitable. She could deal with pain, had developed quite a tolerance over the years of their struggle. He skin was no longer smooth and blemish-free, and her bones had broken many times. But pain had always come unexpectedly; a protruding spike of broken metal cleaving the flesh of her thigh as she fell, the sudden impact of a forceful collision with a wall breaking bone instantly. She had never lingered in the anticipation of pain, had never felt so helpless to avoid it.

"Wesker would surely be pleased to hear of your demise."

With the mention of that one name, hope broke through the annoyance of fear.

"Wesker?" she breathed. "You...you know him? Then...you know where he is?"

Perhaps her predicament was not so useless after all. She would gladly suffer a world of pain to determine his whereabouts, to finally avenge the deaths of her friends...to finally release the grudge that had consumed both herself and Chris since that awful night back in 1998.

"No," he laughed. "He works for himself these days, keeps pretty quiet. Albert Wesker is one trophy I would love to mount on my wall."

The hope sank. Rather than be one step closer to ending her own personal vendetta, she was on the verge of granting closure to one that ended only with her violent end.

There was little hope on the horizon, but she clung to the last of her waning strength. Because you never knew when a little perseverance may be useful.

* * *

_**August 23, 2003. 12:27am. St. Bernadette Hospital, Dallas, Texas.**_

Claire was surprised to find that sleep was not even a whispered suggestion to her mind. Word on the mission was still very hushed, but she soon picked up on the transfer of several agents to a nearby hospital. It was perhaps morbid of her to hope that her brother's name was amongst the admitted, but she knew that he would be safer on a hospital ward than he would have been out on the field. Alas, there was no Christopher Redfield on the roster, only Leon Kennedy, Michael Norton and Donald Miller Jr.

There was an agent waiting by Kennedy's room, and she could see that the man in question remained obliviously unconscious against hospital sheets. She could not make out enough of his features to determine just how seriously injured he was, but she was filled with the urge to dash into the room and run her fingers through the hair she had pleaded with him to cut on many occasions.

But an arm shot out to impede her progress, and the watchful agent smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, Miss Redfield," he sighed. "The doctor said he was to have no visitors until he wakes."

"How is he?" she asked, never one to obey doctors' orders.

The agent shrugged.

"Concussion," he assumed. "He'll be fine, he just needs some rest."

Claire frowned, gazing into the room, hoping for movement of some kind.

"Take me to my brother then," she requested. "I want to see him."

"No can do, miss," he denied. "Orders from the boss himself...he was quite specific."

Claire froze.

"Wait...Chris told you to-?" she began to ask, groaning in frustration as the truth sank in. He had requested that she be kept far away from danger, as usual. But danger was all relative, and he knew that she could handle herself.

"Why?" she asked, being sure to bat her eyelids in an attempt to seem forlorn. Her trick appeared to work as the agent sighed and exhaled slowly.

"There has been a situation," he explained. "Agent Valentine is being held hostage by the leader of the organisation. No demands have been issued yet, but...look, I think he's worried something will happen to you too. If I were in his position I would have done exactly the same."

She had no time to consider his assumption, fixated only on the knowledge that Jill was in danger. It truly was no surprise that Chris wanted her nowhere near the base, but she knew that he needed her. There was little doubt that he would be a mess right now, and in need of emotional support that the others could not offer him. He was not amongst friends, which she knew he would need.

She wandered slowly and aimlessly away from Leon's room. Jill was her friend too, though she had developed the habit of thinking of her initially as her brother's girlfriend. She was a strong woman, but captivity was a situation that was terrifying for whoever experienced it - she would know.

Room 309, she knew, was the temporary home of Mike Norton; an old friend she had not spoken to in quite some time. Unlike Leon, Mike was fully conscious when she approached, enquiring about his health before a greeting could be uttered.

"I'll live," he chuckled weakly. "Never taking a damn assignment from you again, though."

Claire smiled softly, settling into the chair by his bed.

"Lisa is on her way," she notified him. I called her as soon as I heard you were admitted. She's worried."

Mike groaned, but an unmistakeable smile spread across his lips.

"She worries too much," he sighed. "She should be resting."

"She cares about her husband," Claire laughed. "It's kind of her job."

"And worrying about you is your brother's..."

His name would always come up in these conversations. It had always been his job to worry about her, ever since the deaths of their parents. In many ways he had become a surrogate father to her, more involved in her protection and upbringing than a brother was expected to be. Perhaps this was the reason for their closeness. She had met others who barely spoke to their siblings, but she could not imagine life without Chris. She loved him deeply and unconditionally, and could never seem to show him that she was equally as concerned about his actions as he was about hers. He was more than her brother; he was her best friend.

"He's okay," Mike assured her, reaching for a trembling hand and squeezing it gently. "A little bruised, but he's in much better shape than I am."

"Physically, perhaps," she sighed. "He doesn't fall in love easily, but when he does, he falls hard. Jill is his whole world; he can't be taking this easily."

"Oh," was all Mike had to say on the matter. "Yes...I heard about that. I'm sorry."

'Yeah, me too,' she thought to herself. But she held hope that all would be well. Jill was a strong, capable woman and had gotten herself out of tighter spots than these. With Chris likely in charge of the search and rescue squad, she would be in safe hands very soon.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Mike wheezed. "But she'll be dead before they send in the rescue team."

His words jarred on her consciousness, and she refused to accept them. Jill would survive, she would be alright. It was _Jill_, for God's sake!

"She'll be fine," she insisted a little angrily.

"Claire, I'm not trying to upset you," he explained. "But the Major has killed his own allies, he's a vicious maniac. Jill is an enemy; she doesn't stand a chance."

Claire frowned, stubbornly rejecting his comments. She had to believe that everything would work out; things got bad for them, but never tragic. In all the years of fighting, through all the broken bones and hospitalisations, they had not suffered a single casualty. Why would they lose a friend and ally now?

'Why not?'

She wished that Chris were not so stubborn. Somehow, she felt that she needed him in that moment just as much as he needed her.

**AN - Please review :)**


	11. The Preservation of the Martyr in Me

**AN - **The last part of this chapter was originally intended for last chapter, but didn't really seem to fit. It's quite a small scene but one I wanted to include, despite the fact that I couldn't seem to find a place where it fit perfectly. There isn't really much more to say this time, other than the chapter title is from Psychosocial by Slipknot.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed: _Ninja-Gnome, Supermodel Sandwich, Chaed, Black Metalmark, Razial, Ivilith, xSummonerYunax, Kenshin13_ and _tek_. Thank you so much for your continued support, it truly means a lot. The next chapter will be the concluding part of Jill's captivity...just how bloody it gets remains to be seen (oh, foreshadowing ^_^). Until next time...

* * *

**Blindside**

_**Chapter Ten**__ - The Preservation of the Martyr in Me_

_'It is the cause, not the death, that makes the martyr.'  
~Napolean Bonaparte~_

_**August 23, 2003. 12:27am. Verisanda Technologies, Exterior. Temporary BSAA Base.**_

Thirty minutes had passed almost to the moment when the second communication came through. Chris could feel every nerve worn down to a useless conductor, and was sure that this had been Nicholai's intention. Exactly what had he put her through in those thirty minutes? Was she even still alive?

Had he not been bound by rules, he would have had his hands around the bastard's neck by now.

Every minute that passed whittled slowly away at his resolve, until he was sure that he would buckle from the pressure. He had never expected to hold her life in his hands, to be so utterly useless to help her.

"I have a request," Nicholai announced, his voice crackling inhumanly in the midst of static. "A deal of sorts."

Chris's heart sank. He knew for sure that no deal would be made.

"I want Oliveira," the Russian demanded. "Alive, within the hour. We have unfinished business I am sure he is dying to attend to."

"The American government does not bow to the demands of terrorists," Chris recited, going through the motions when he knew they led nowhere productive.

A short scoff at the other end of the line stole a single beat of his heart.

"Terrorist?" Nicholai chuckled, mild annoyance evident in his tone. "Mr. Redfield, I am offended. I am a business man, not a terrorist. If you wish to hold hope of seeing her again that does not reside entirely in delusion, you will do well to remember that."

It was Carlos's hand on his forearm that momentarily stilled his temper, much to the surprise of both men. Carlos had seen his jaw twitch, had seen his arm move but a fraction of an inch forward. Breaking the console would achieve nothing, and he mentally thanked his old comrade, reciting words in his mind that he would never dare utter.

"You son of a bitch, do you have any idea what you are messing with?"

"I could snap her neck right now," Nicholai reminded him. "Just push me and see what happens."

With no option left but to hold his tongue, Chris felt rage bubble within. He was never skilled at controlling his admittedly wild temper, but now there was more at risk than wounded pride. If she died because of his words, he would never be able to forgive himself.

"You are not as powerful as you seem to think you are," he was coldly reminded. "There is nothing you can do but listen to my words and obey every one soundlessly. I want Oliveira, alone, unarmed, and I will be kind and retract the previous time limit. Somehow I think you will want to oblige very soon, so I don't expect to be waiting long. You should be more concerned about your partner than about your policies."

More insults rose in his throat, but he choked each last one down. But the words that rose in their place were equally as bitter; anything to delay the inevitable admission of the truth.

"What guarantee do we have that she will be unharmed?" he asked, more pleasant words slipping past the bile.

"No guarantee," Nicholai admitted. "But you will determine just how much she will suffer. If you send Carlos my way, I may be kind enough to let her live. What do you say, Oliveira? You became rather fond of Miss Valentine...can your conscience bear the thought of her suffering?"

This time it was Chris's turn to reach for Carlos, sensing but not witnessing the snarl that had distorted his features. He was amazed that he himself remained so calm on the inside, when his heart and mind were ravaged by desperation. He fought to keep the image of her face from his mind, the scent of her skin and the warmth of her smile. In S.T.A.R.S., she had been a juggernaut, strong and dependable with an aura that deterred any negative comments or actions; men dared not cross her, for they knew they would be nursing more than a fractured ego. He had initially feared her, this outspoken, dangerous woman. But then he had grown to know her and to love her, and he soon realised that she was more fragile than she would allow others to believe, both physically and emotionally. She was stronger than many men, but even the strongest man would have difficulty facing her current situation.

Then, the words came, and with them his hope faltered.

"The BSAA does not bow to the demands of terrorists."

Nicholai sighed deeply; a drawn-out, disappointed heave.

"That is a shame," he sighed.

There was a sudden crack; the unmistakeable activity of a firearm. The shot echoed through the line, distorted only by the searing incision of a gut-wrenching scream. Every man in the vicinity of the tent jumped, and Chris felt the bullet as though it had pierced his own skin, thought draining from his mind as colour did from his face.

The gunshot faded faster than the scream, which came to a strangled close, heavy breaths and spluttered coughing drawing the moment to an unbearable length. Sobs could be heard; the choked protests of one trying desperately to withhold tears, but the physical aspect of hurt proving too powerful.

"What the fuck did you do?" Chris demanded, voice booming in a way it never had before.

"I shot her," came his answer, blunt and to the point, though perhaps a little too cheerful. "Don't worry, the wound in itself is not fatal...but I'm willing to bet that it hurts like hell. Of course, there is blood loss too; it's quite a mess over here. She needs medical attention, Chris. If you deny her that, she will die. So now you understand just how serious I am."

Once again, Chris's jaw set, skin flushing as fury increased the circulation within his skin. But once again, he was reminded of the simple fact that there was nothing he could do for her, or that there was but he was powerless when it came to the executive decision. She was hurt, and she was likely scared, though he knew she would not allow it to show. He truly believed that he was mere moments away from discarding all protocol and racing in, all guns blazing. Everything Nicholai did to her, he would be sure to enact twice upon his heartless form; his vengeance would be an arm for an eye.

"Since my previous offers have so far failed to suit you, I shall present one more and this will be my final offer," Nicholai breathed, voice quaking now from the anger he had previously kept well concealed. It was anger he sure did not want to be taken out on Jill. "I am growing tired of both Miss Valentine's whimpering and your failure to acknowledge the seriousness of this situation. You will deliver Carlos Oliveira to me and you may have whatever is left of your wonderful partner at that time. I estimate that my patience with her will last no more than half an hour. I hope to hear from you soon."

Before protests could be snarled, he was gone, and a sudden buzz of activity descended upon the small tent. Chris could not sway from his position, could not offer anything to appease the madman. Of course, the rescue mission would go ahead, but what would they find? Would they find Jill or only her body?

"They can't just leave her like this," Connolly growled at his left side. "It's...unethical. What happened to 'leave no man behind'?"

It touched Chris that his comrade shared his own, rather personal thoughts. But sadly ethics did not factor in to the decision, and neither did their feelings.

"It's not the first time I've faced something like this," he admitted. "You stop looking for the answers after a while."

* * *

_**August 23, 2003. 12:33am. Verisanda Technologies, control room.**_

Jill had been shot at before, but had admittedly never suffered a direct shot to any part of her body. Grazes, impacts on a bulletproof vest; they hurt but the pain was manageable and the damage minimal. But this...

The movies had gotten it wrong. There was no enduring the agony, no rising stubbornly to her feet. Such a small wound, yet so much pain. Fire seemed to shoot up and down her left leg, encircling the small hole in her thigh from which blood continued to slowly flow. All the while, she bit her bottom lip, drawing blood as she choked back cries of protest. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her body now horizontal against the floor. She could not find the energy to haul herself upright once again.

"I would re-think your relationship if I were you," Nicholai chided. "You obviously do not mean as much to him as I initially assumed."

"G-go to hell," she hissed.

And then his hand was at her throat and her back was slammed once again against the wall. For all her struggling, she could do nothing to fight back. In the end, she resigned herself to stillness, realising that the pain was far more manageable when she simply did not move.

"I am beginning to think that Chris is not the only one who underestimates the situation," he snarled, squeezing gloved fingers around her trachea. "Perhaps you need another reminder?"

She had not seen him draw the blade from a holster at his boot, but she could not miss the tip that hovered millimetres from her left eye.

It was strange how she could focus on nothing else, not even the lips that twisted yet again into a self-satisfied smirk. Fear took precedence over every emotion and every conscious action was focused only on the goal of moving as far away from the silver edge as was humanly possible. Her injured leg pain her too much to move, but still it jerked awkwardly, drawing more tears from her eyes as the unconscious movement repeated.

"Ah yes," Nicholai remembered, casually withdrawing the knife and relinquishing his grip. "We need to take care of that leg. There is no sense in dying before the fun starts, right?"

He moved swiftly away, stepping over the body that had once belonged to Tessa, towards the medium-sized boxes that were piled up along the opposite wall.

"He is only...doing...his job," she breathed through clenched teeth, bravery foolishly rushing back to her. "I am proud of him."

Pulling away from the boxes, several bandages and a sealed package she could not distinguish clasped tightly in one hand, he reached for her hair with the other and threw her to the ground, kneeling down to place his full weight on the calf of her wounded limb when her shoulder collided with hard tile. With her hands cuffed firmly behind her back, there was nothing she could do but cry out in protest, every movement intensifying the discomfort she felt.

Blinded to his actions, she felt the cold touch of steel against her thigh, beneath the protective fabric of her fatigues. She panicked, writhing beneath him, but a strong hand mere millimetres from her wound prevented her movements from achieving anything more than a flash of agony. Fabric ripped, the cool, conditioned air hitting her skin as icicles would upon sand. Cardboard tore next, and a fraction of a second later, something cold was thrust into the open wound. She bit down hard on her lip, drawing yet more blood but failing to stifle the scream. She jerked again in protest, but still she remained unable to pull free and crawl away.

When the object retracted, so too did the pressure she had felt within her flesh the moment the bullet had pierced her skin. A casual clink of metal against tile and the subsequent comforting press of bandage to wound suddenly brought realisation to her clouded mind. She had watched Rebecca repair many gunshot wounds in the field; Nicholai's actions were unkind in comparison but followed a similar theme.

The gauze showed spots of permeating droplets of blood by the time he pulled her upright, roughly enough to knock her head uncomfortably against the wall.

"Do you know what your problem is?" he spoke quietly, leaving no time for thought between inevitable insults. "You see yourself as a martyr; I can tell that this pains you, yet you chew your lip - ironically inflicting more pain upon yourself - rather than indulge me. What end do you hope to justify with your means, because I can't for the life of me think what it could possibly be?"

She levelled her eyes at him, begging him to urge yet another sarcastic reply from her lips. Whatever she said, he would not understand; he _couldn't_ understand. Men like Nicholai could not see the other side. Had she been completely honest and revealed to him that the thought of the pain Chris would likely endure should she die at his hands proved more terrifying than anything he could possibly do to her, she knew that he would not understand. Because love changes perspectives; committing sacrifice is easier than witnessing it.

Was that all that kept her conscious, despite fatigue beckoning her to sleep? The knowledge that she had to pull through?

Perhaps.

"Your desire to do good is amusing," he continued through muffled laughter. "Always taking the brighter road. If you had accepted what was easy at the time, we would not be having this conversation, would we? You let me live, Jill, and look where that got you..."

_"I will give you one last chance," he called, words almost lost in the whir of the blades of his helicopter. "Surrender, or I will shoot. The bounty is still good if you are dead."_

_The bounty. Jill frowned, the rifle that perched on her shoulder budging not a millimetre. She recognised the model of his helicopter from Chris's rambles; she had attempted to teach him the fine art of lock picking while he rattled off all that he knew about flying - which happened to be a lot. It was a simple way of passing the time on long assignment, but finally the information had proven useful. It was an old helicopter, the metal that encased the fuel tank thinner than the later models that the R.P.D. frequently used. The rounds in her rifle could pierce thick armour at this distance; a single bullet would be enough to rupture the fuel tank, and Nicholai would be nothing but a smouldering carcass in a steel coffin._

_"If you are going to shoot, I suggest you do it now," he goaded._

_She lined up her sight, pressed her finger to the trigger...and froze._

_Despite the many shots she had fired, she had never before taken a life. Her career choice was a violent one, but she was not a violent person at heart. She did not believe in murder, whatever the circumstances may be; a life was a life, no matter what its owner chose to do with it._

_Slowly, she lowered her weapon._

_"It seems I have your answer," Nicholai laughed._

He had fired upon her then, and she had barely found a place in which to hide; a small alcove beneath the console. Nicholai had flown away, taking their only means of escape with him. Carlos had found her soon after, moments after a narrow escape from the Nemesis. He had almost missed her at first, curled up against the wall. There was no way out, she had told him; they were trapped.

She closed her eyes, blocking memories that struck too tender a nerve. All that ever met their crusade for good was tragedy after tragedy, and the price of success steadily increased.

"I'm not like you," she was sure to let him know. "You inflict torment, I try to prevent it."

But why did she try? Did she truly believe that she could make a difference? Or was her life so empty that she fought for the preservation of others at the risk of her own?

'No,' she resolved. There was much to live for, and so much more to fight for. She was not a damsel in distress, and her career choice was just that - a choice. If she started to feel sorry for herself, who knew where it would lead?

It was time that she faced the truth; her fate rested in her own, cruelly bound hands. Was she going to sit around and wait for rescue, or was she going to take action?

She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. The control room was small, yet crowded. Boxes of medical supplies were piled up against one wall, the security console taking up much of the adjacent. Files were piled onto the desk above her and to her left, several spilling onto the floor where she had knocked them as she fell. Attached to one of these files...a paper clip!

The cuffs rubbed painfully against her wrists, but they were not so tight as to prevent her from picking the lock. A paper clip was all she needed; the lock would be child's play.

"Prevent how?" Nicholai asked, suddenly breaking her from her thoughts. "You are bound by rules and regulations. I will level with you: I honestly do not expect Chris to oblige. Part of me hopes that he will not; I will find Carlos one day, and I have you right now. While it would be satisfying to me for him to witness your pain, I am not hell-bent on that particular detail."

"And you think I will be an easy target?" she sneered. "I have learned from my mistakes."

And then, she struck out her good leg, knocking both of his from beneath him in one swift move. Before he had so much as touched the ground, she threw herself sideways, rolling onto the file. Ripples of sheer agony flared through her thigh but she ignored them all, slipping the paperclip into her fingers and offering another kick to Nicholai's fallen form for good measure.

She had not expected to get far with her foolish move, and as she was forcibly rolled over, a knee painfully in the small of her back, her only concern was on keeping the small piece of twisted metal concealed from her captor.

"Evidently not," he growled, and suddenly his fingers were prying apart her own. Stubbornly, she refused to relinquish her grip but was left with no option than to uncurl her empty hand when the butt of his weapon slammed against her knuckles. There was no possible way she would be able to pick the lock on her restraints with broken fingers.

"Consider this a courtesy introductory lesson," Nicholai snarled.

She felt the cold, wet touch of tweezers against the tip of her right middle finger. It took barely a split-second for his intentions to become clear, and she jerked uselessly against the floor.

"No, _no_!" she cried, but his grasp proved too powerful to free herself from. With her hands secured tightly behind her back, there was nothing she could do.

The fingernail pulled slowly from her skin, the warmth of spilled blood trickling down into the palm of her hand. Despite her cries of pained protest, he continued to pull, to wiggle until the nail pulled free of the skin, air touching upon the exposed flesh beneath with the gentleness of a thousand falling daggers.

"That was a warning," he whispered into her ear. "Every time you pull another little stunt, you will lose something bigger until it becomes extremely inconvenient."

Through the discomfort, she remained focused on the small sliver of metal in her enclosed left fist, determined to keep it safely within her grasp as he pulled her upright once again.

"I think it is about time we received the final answer from your rather uncaring boyfriend."

"Why do you...want C-Carlos?" she asked. Anything to keep him from inevitably signing her death warrant. She needed more time.

Nicholai, fortunately, took the bait and settled onto a chair several feet in front of her. His confidence whittled away at hers, so sure was he that he would be uninterrupted. Jill herself was beginning to doubt rescue. At least, before it was too late.

She carefully unfolded the paperclip, but found that it was an act easier said than done. She had never conceived the possibility that the loss of something as small as a fingernail could cause so much inconvenience. However, she was nothing if not determined and knew that the stakes were too high to let a little pain stop her.

"Because he is the only remaining member of our unit," he explained slowly. "I can't accept that."

Her fingers stilled, the half-bent paperclip almost slipping from her grasp.

"That- That's _it_?" she gasped in disbelief. At the very least, she had expected a personal affront or a startling revelation. His words were startling all right, but not in the way she had been expecting.

"It's annoying," Nicholai shrugged, indifferent it seemed. "I am a man of simple pleasures. You two have been like grains of sand in my eye; you should have died in Raccoon, by my hand. It may be a little late, but it will all end the same. You should know that I have no intention of letting you live."

The thought had crossed her mind. The paperclip slid against the blood that now coated her fingertips, making the process of picking the lock on her cuffs painfully impossible.

Again, she refused to give up.

But as wave after wave of fatigue crashed into her, she realised that time was not all that was running thin. The bandage at her thigh was now a bright shade of crimson, pain transcending into numbness. She was steadily losing blood; how long would it be until consciousness slipped away too?

'Your vision is blurred but it is still there,' she reminded herself. 'Hold on, you'll get through this.'

"What do you hope to achieve?" she asked. "T-there is no way for you to escape."

Nicholai smiled, and helplessness crushed down upon her once again.

"Do you think I came into this without a plan?" he countered, words distorted by the maniacal twist of his lips. "I planned for this, it was always meant to be this way. I will be gone before your friends even know where we are."

* * *

_**August 23, 2003. 12:45am. St. Bernadette Hospital, Dallas, Texas.**_

It was strange that her feet brought her back to Leon's room with no conscious intention behind the act. She was left with not a moment to dwell on her actions when she was faced with an unguarded room and an occupant who appeared to be wide awake.

"Leon?" she questioned quietly as she tiptoed into the room.

Groggily, he raised his head, only to have it crash back down onto the plump white pillow a moment later. Her feet moved of their own volition once again, bringing her to his bedside within seconds.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, raising fingers to push fallen hair from his face. Sadness seemed to emanate from deep within his eyes; an emotion she had never before witnessed in her usually stoic friend.

"I...where am I?" he breathed, though his eyes remained fixed on hers, making no attempt to view his surroundings.

"You're in the hospital," she soothed. "You must have passed out."

"No!" he said suddenly, determination once again fixed into his voice. "I...I didn't. It was...Tessa. Shit, I need to-"

He attempted to rise, but Claire found that it took surprisingly little effort to push him back into a safe position. She did not yet know the extent of his injuries and was taking no risks with his health. Somehow, all she wanted to do was to comfort him. It was a strange emotion; one that she had not felt since her reunion with an emotionally fragile Chris all those years ago.

"They already know," she told him. But just how much could she tell him? Leon and Jill were close; how would he react to the news of her kidnapping, knowing that it was Tessa who likely sold her out? The information the BSAA had succeeded in extracting from Donny Miller suggested that she hand-delivered their friend to the bastard herself.

"Is...Is it over?" he asked. Again, she did not know what to say. It would have been so easy to tell him that everyone was safe and well, that there was no more fear of bad news. But she did not want to lie to him.

"No," she admitted. "Leon..."

His eyes finally focused, and somehow she lost the ability to speak. She had never seen him so helpless, so vulnerable. It stirred something within her, something a little more potent than mere concern. But anything more than what she already offered would be inappropriate; he was a friend, nothing more.

'Then why do you have to keep reminding yourself?'

"What is it?"

"Jill is being held hostage," she revealed. Even as she considered the news, tears pricked at her eyes until she was forced to close them momentarily, lest her emotions spill forth. "There's...there's nothing we can do. She could _die_, Leon..."

And suddenly, it had become about her. Where she had initially been uttering words of truth, she now sought comfort from an injured man. Selfish was what she considered her sudden change of heart to be. How could she expect what she herself felt incapable of giving?

Leon's silence only furthered her guilt. She should have lied, should have reassured him that all was well. Slowly, his eyelids swooped down and a long, rattling breath was exhaled.

"I...I knew I shouldn't have left her."

"Oh come on, don't talk like that!" she fumed. "This isn't your fault."

But words could not dissuade him from what he felt in his gut. He could not help but take each and every mishap to heart. His comrades were not faceless drones; they were his family. Each death struck a bitter blow to an already heavy heart. He was closer to Jill than she, and she herself felt the trepidation within her very bones.

"She'll be fine," Claire whispered, though she was unsure who she was trying to convince. "It's _Jill_ for God's sake."

Leon groaned quietly, and she found that her hand darted once again to his hair, fingertips trailing downwards until her palm softly cupped his cheek. The heat that emanated from his damp skin soothed some part of her, enough that her thoughts were no longer clouded. But what lay beneath the haze did not feel entirely welcome. Flushed lips stood prominent against sickly pale skin, so inviting, so...

She curled the fingers that caressed him and smiled forlornly, leaning back in her chair. She knew better than to listen to her heart; it was still young, how did it know what she wanted? It was her instincts that kept her alive, her heart only clouding her judgement. Perhaps she merely felt sorry for him?

It was not love, was not even lust...but it was something, and she could not, for all her trying, understand it.

Emotions like this, she realised, were best left alone.

**AN - Please review :).**


	12. Bend Your Arms To Look Like Wings

**AN **- I truly didn't expect to finish this chapter so fast ^_^. As you may have noticed, the rating has increased. This was perhaps the most difficult piece I have ever had to write, especially the last section of the chapter. I don't mind criticism as long as it is constructive. Chapter title is from a song by Funeral For A Friend.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: _Ninja-Gnome, Chaed, Black Metalmark, Kenshin13, Supermodel Sandwich, d.x.l, xSummonerYunax_ and _tek_. I can't believe I forgot to say this two chapters back, but thank you all for helping me break 100 reviews on this story! I think Chaed was number 100 so doubly thank you! I always think that 100 is a great achievement and I can't put into words how truly grateful I am ^_^. You all rock!

* * *

**Blindside**

**_Chapter Eleven_**_ - Bend Your Arms To Look Like Wings_

_'As the sun sets on battlefields, I hope you can save me,  
I hope you can save our wounded hearts.'_

**_August 23, 2003. 12:54am. Verisanda Technologies, Exterior. Temporary BSAA Base._**

Alone, his thoughts echoed within his mind, each one as useless as the last. Hope alone was not enough to bring her back. Just one year ago, he would have acted without thought, storming the facility with all guns blazing. Now, he was resigned to a position as useless as a desk jockey.

'Hell of a time to quite smoking,' he realised.

Almost half an hour had passed since their last communication; the deadline was looming and he had nothing more to offer her captor. It would be as though he signed her death warrant with his own hands. And how would she go? In the midst of a bloodbath? It had always occurred to him that they would die in this way, but now that reality struck a little too close to home he simply could not bear the thought.

Chris Redfield had never felt so utterly useless.

"Sir, we are ready to move out on your order," DeChant called from the doorway. A simple wave of the hand was all it took to send the soldier away.

A rescue mission? It seemed inappropriate when rescue was not their main objective. Oh, of course they claimed that Jill's safety was their foremost concern, but it was Nicholai they truly wanted. The bastard could see every movement made within the walls of the facility; she would be dead the moment they set foot inside.

'Did I tell her enough that I love her?' he wondered.

'No, don't think that way. She'll be alright.'

He knew that his sister would hate him equally right now. He simply did not wish to put her in danger, she meant too much to him. Losing Jill was one thing, but losing Claire as well...

Footsteps shuffled into his range of hearing.

"Give me five minutes," he requested. The longer he delayed the 'rescue', the longer she had to overpower him, to...

'Who are you kidding? She is bound and wounded; she's not going anywhere.'

"How about I give you none?" Carlos' voice suggested, friendliness injected not even as a courtesy.

Chris turned on the box on which he perched, helpless as he stared down the rival he had named for himself. It was Carlos that held the key to her rescue, to the alleviation of her suffering at the very least. But how could he offer up the life of another - even a man he held no positive emotion for - for the possible return of his partner? They all knew that she was dead regardless, and ironically it was this realisation that spurred the idea of the continuation of the previously attempted search and rescue mission.

"I'm going in," Carlos announced. "It's my decision and I'm not going to let the BSAA stop me."

"Don't."

Chris did not know who was more surprised by his insistence. Here he was, offering up dubious hope, and he refused it? Perhaps he truly had lost his mind?

"Are you serious?" Carlos laughed, failing to gauge just how serious he was. "What he has done to her is only the beginning! I have escaped Nicholai before; I can overpower him and-"

"No, you can't." Chris' voice was deadpan, and each word went against what he felt inside. His heart was screaming, demanding that he allow his old reluctant comrade to make the trade. Nothing was too much where Jill was concerned; he would trade his life for hers in a heartbeat.

Furious silence descended, disbelief suspending Carlos' thoughts for several long seconds.

"Chris," he spoke calmly, allowing rage to settle in his stomach, where it would do the least damage. "I know that you have never liked me. I accepted that and I resigned myself to the fact that nothing I do could ever earn your respect. But I always respected you and your decisions because I knew that your heart and your intentions were pure. I did not give up on Jill because she was in love with you; I gave up on her because I knew that you were good for her and that you would always have her best interests at heart. That was more than I could ever offer her. But how in good conscience can you leave any man to suffer, not least the woman you supposedly love?"

There was no reply from the silent figure in the corner, and Carlos found that his legs moved him ever closer. He tried to fight, to remain stationary from fear that his argument may evolve to a physical level. He had expected more from Chris Redfield; the man before him surely was not the same man he had fought alongside in the crusade against Umbrella.

But it was when he drew closer that he noticed the defects in an otherwise confident posture; shoulders were slumped but a little, head hung low above limp hands. Suddenly, the hands rose to his neck; the unmistakeable twitch of a hopeless mind.

"What am I supposed to do?" Chris demanded softly, turning so that they finally locked eyes. "There's nothing...nothing..."

He choked on his final words and without thinking, Carlos placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It had been a remarkable façade while it lasted, but slowly his mask began to slip and each wall crumbled. He had never seen the man in such a state, had not even thought it were possible. It stirred feelings of guilt within him, masking the fear he had felt for both himself and their mutual friend.

Though the years had passed, he still harboured deep feelings for her. They were useless and would never be satisfied, but they were there regardless and he had learned to live with that. That was the problem with love; it never truly disappeared; only faded until it was nothing but an echo. But this echo fuelled the saviour within. He would not let any friend or comrade suffer, and he simply could not stand to sit back and watch the BSAA's incompetence where Jill's rescue was concerned. It was a trait he evidently shared with the elder Redfield sibling; though Chris harboured nothing more than blind hatred for him, he was unwilling to stand back and allow him to sacrifice his life for a possibility.

"I'm going in," he assured Chris, knowing now that they were words he longed to hear.

Silence fell, but it was not entirely uncomfortable.

"Is there anything I can say that will change your mind?" asked Chris. For the first time since his arrival, Carlos sensed hope in his voice.

"Not a damn thing," he explained with a smile.

Chris chuckled softly, his posture improving enough to be noticeable.

"Then this conversation never happened."

* * *

**_August 23, 2003. 1:04am. Verisanda Technologies, Control room._**

The room had begun to ripple and twist, distorted perhaps in her mind. It could have been her eyes; she knew she could no longer trust them.

Just how much blood had she lost? The exposed skin of her thigh was not the colour it should have been, but she felt nothing but the dull throb of numbness. Perhaps it was the excruciating pain at the tip of her finger than drew her attention? Picking the lock was a futile endeavour; where pain often faded with time, this was annoyingly persistent.

"Mr. Redfield, are you there?" Nicholai's voice swam through the sea of her consciousness. She could barely keep her head upright. In many ways she felt as a newborn baby; unskilled in motor co-ordination, and dependent on the care of another. But there was no other, only the man who paced at her feet, the man responsible for her condition.

"I copy," spoke Chris' voice, somehow pulling her through her watery grave. Everything was suddenly so clear, and that voice...

"How is our deal progressing?" Nicholai asked.

"First thing's first," Chris interjected confidently. "I want to speak with her. I need proof that she is still alive."

His voice seemed distant somehow, wounded. The others would not have noticed his discomfort, but she could sense it. He was hurting, and yet he remained apparently in charge.

'This is all my fault,' she lamented.

"Very well," Nicholai agreed, though she knew better than to celebrate. Nothing he agreed to meant well for her.

She fought to catch her breath as he lowered himself down, holding the radio towards her. Having focused all of her energy on remaining awake and picking that annoyingly simple lock, she found that somewhere along the line she had forgotten how to speak.

But it was not words that Nicholai wished for Chris to hear.

She felt his finger even through the numerous layers of dressing. It started as a throbbing pain at first, as her nerves readjusted to this new sensation. The finger pushed, twisted, and delved further into the wound, until thick tendrils of blind agony wound around her thigh, creeping along the inside of her leg, tracing a path to her spine.

She tried to internalise the sensation, but could feel it building beneath her skin, creeping towards her lungs until...

The cry came of its own accord, and she almost choked on the accompanying breaths. Her bound hands jarred painfully against the cuffs, the bent tip of the paperclip jabbing skin that was once covered by nail. Her entire body jerked, injured leg twitching spasmodically. Through it all, Nicholai remained calm and quiet, simply holding the radio with an outstretched arm.

"J-Jill?"

Chris' voice broke as it softly called her name, and in that single syllable she felt all that he had no doubt kept hidden. Fear, helplessness, pain, panic, desperation; they seeped through her skin, consuming her as though they were her own.

Nicholai's finger twisted and she cried out again as she slipped to the floor, falling into the blood that had pooled around her thigh.

"Stop!" she cried out, fully aware that she was not even afforded control over one limb. It took all of her remaining strength to keep the paperclip firmly in her hand; it was not an endeavour she was willing to give up, despite its apparently futile nature. She had never felt pain quite like it, save for that one night in Raccoon...she did not think it was humanly possible.

"_Please!_"

And suddenly, the pain softened, its echo rippling through her skin.

"Was that so difficult?" he teased in a sing-song voice. "Politeness can get you a long way."

"Jill? Are you alright?" Chris called. She could almost feel his heart breaking through his words.

"Tell him the truth, Jill."

She gasped and panted, oxygen inhaled but not absorbed. Her lungs felt heavy, as though she breathed tar in place of air. Something rose quickly within her stomach as her weight displaced onto her injured hand. Convulsions racked her body, and she rode with them until the pain expelled itself in a more physical form.

No sooner had her stomach emptied itself of its meagre contents, Nicholai once again gripped the collar of her T-shirt and hauled her upright, not taking enough care to be gentle.

"I really wish you would stop making such a mess," he sighed.

"Chris..." She could not listen to Nicholai's ramblings for one second longer. She needed to hear his voice again, even if just for one more time.

"Jill, it's okay," he assured her. "We're going to get you out of there."

But she grimaced in response. How could she believe in his words when he evidently did not believe in them himself?

"You...always were a t-terrible liar," she laughed quietly. "I've...lost a lot...of blood. I can't even...t-think straight...anymore..."

"Hey!" he called, and suddenly she was devoted solely to his words. All of the pain that she felt, all of the doubt and the fear...it all washed away. "You need to stay strong, soldier. We're...we're working on it."

But work got them nowhere. She knew the procedures, and she could already feel herself losing the tug-of-war battle with her consciousness. Alertness was slipping away. Hell, she couldn't even pick a damn simple lock.

"I love you," she whispered. Fuck protocol; she knew this would be the last time they exchanged words. She was never one to give up, but she was also honest to a fault, even with herself. She knew when she was in a losing situation, and her current predicament pretty much defined the term. "I love you and I'm sorry. I-"

"And our conversation will end here," Nicholai interrupted, taking the radio with him as he rose to his feet. "No apologies are allowed. You will just have to live with whatever you have done...or at least, Chris will."

"Damn it, you sadistic son of a bitch-" Chris growled, but once again it seemed that the conversation ran solely on Nicholai's terms.

"Tell me, Mr. Redfield, how is our deal coming along?"

There was silence on the other end of the line; she could almost see the restraint in his expression.

"There is no deal," Chris reminded him. "Release Agent Valentine and we can negotiate the terms of your surrender."

"There is no surrender," Nicholai sighed. "I am truly sorry it had to come to this. If there is no deal, we have nothing further to discuss."

Chris' voice drifted once again through the static of the radio, but Jill could not make out words. He sounded furious, upset and angry. She knew that she should be afraid, but she simply did not have the capacity for another emotion, even the elevation of one that already ran through her veins.

"The body of Miss Valentine will be left for your collection in the control room," Nicholai explained. "It seems such a waste. Your girlfriend is _very_ pretty, Mr. Redfield."

The radio exploded into a thousand pieces as it hit the wall above her head, components raining down upon her like acid rain. But still his words echoed in her mind. What did he mean? What did he intend?

"Is...Is this another one of your m-mind games?" she asked. The art of breathing had never been so difficult to grasp.

Nicholai smiled, and it sickened her to realise that he was truly enjoying this; his glee was a little too genuine for her liking. She had met many evil men, those who killed without a flicker of emotion in their eyes. But she had never before witnessed anyone truly enjoy the act, in the same capacity one may enjoy a night of passion even.

"No, Miss Valentine. I am always serious."

* * *

**_August 23, 1:10am. St. Bernadette Hospital. El Paso, Texas._**

"What are you doing?" Claire exclaimed, reaching for her injured friend. He was in no state to be making sudden movement, let alone attempting to rise from his bed. But whatever strength he had lost was making a comeback, and with her two arms against his one there was still no stopping him.

"I want some answers," Leon fumed through clenched teeth. "Ah! Damn, you have no idea how inconvenient this is."

"Oh no!" she yelled, reaching out to the sling he attempted to cast aside. "You are _not_ taking that off! Do you want it to heal? You know you'll be demoted to a desk job if your injuries end up being permanent."

But somehow, he didn't care. He allowed his arm to fall back onto the sling perhaps as a compromise, but lowered himself unsteadily to the floor. He stumbled a little, but it appeared that enough strength had returned to support his weight.

"I can't just lie around," he groaned.

"And what the hell are you going to do?" she demanded. "The painkillers may have kicked in, but you're still injured. Do you even understand how serious this is? Too many people have died tonight, Leon, please don't stand in line."

She was unable to keep the tears from her voice when she spoke these words. Tears had become an irritation over the years; through all the sorrow, one would have thought that she would be able to control them. But they were enough to bring about a pause, and before she knew it, Leon's hand was placed over hers, his smile attempting to assure her that her worry was misplaced.

"Help me, then," he asked. "Come on, give me your arm."

No sooner than she was on her feet, her arm was forcibly placed around his waist, with his free hand at her shoulder, displacing an almost uncomfortable amount of weight onto her frame.

Claire shook her head in dismay, but inside laughter bubbled. Stubborn to a fault, she would have pinned him and Jill as being siblings and not friends.

Her heart sank once again as she considered the current situation. The walls of the hospital confined her, and even if they did not, what could she do? She was no longer a fighter like the others; she had no right to walk on a battlefield. Was this the price of her decision? Would she be forced to watch from afar as her friends slowly fell victim to the cause?

How could she live with that?

She was snapped quickly from her thoughts when Leon began to walk unsteadily, almost dragging her with him. Even injured, she was forced to take two steps to his one. Long legs and a determination to get the job done assured that she was always walking in his shadow.

The object of his attention strode towards them, coffee in hand as a fellow BSAA agent followed close behind.

"Mr. Kennedy, you should be resting," he insisted, for all the good it would do.

"I've rested enough, Bartley," Leon assured him. "I need to know what's going on. What is the status of the mission?"

Bartley sighed, an indifferent shrug given by his companion.

"I assume you've heard about Agent Valentine?" he asked, and was answered with an impatient nod. "Well, Agent Redfield has mobilised a rescue team and they are preparing to head out."

This news did not please Claire as she knew it should. The mobilisation of a rescue team meant that she remained in enemy hands; hands that were known to kill at the first sign of trouble. She did not know this Major, but she knew Umbrella all too well.

"What about Jill?" she demanded. "What is going to happen to her?"

Bartley drew an uneasy breath, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. He was a young agent, inexperienced and a little on edge. But he was a good man, and Claire trusted him to tell the truth.

"We don't know," he admitted, honest as always. "Negotiations fell through. All we can do is hope that the rescue team finds her before it is too late."

"What?" she cried, moving forward a half-step. But Leon's able hand reached out, fingers wrapping gently around her arm. There was nothing demanding about his touch - she doubted that there was much physical strength left within his tired body - but somehow it was enough to calm her from within.

"What are the chances of success?" Leon asked. She did not quite know how he succeeded in remaining so calm when she felt as though her insides were slowly unravelling. All she could do was step in close to his body, hoping that some of his calm rubbed off on her.

"Not good," Bartley answered. His honestly was beginning to irritate Claire. "As far as I can tell, there are no expectations of a successful rescue. At the very least, they are hoping to apprehend her captor and retrieve the body."

Claire pulled free of her friend's loose grip, feeling her emotions seep through to the physical realm. One hand rested on her hip, the other rising to hide her expression as she stepped away and turned her back to the others. How could they refer to Jill as a 'body'? Their words had effectively sealed her fate when it was uncertain just how this mission would end.

'Chris must be a mess right now,' she thought to herself. 'He shouldn't have to deal with this.'

"For what it's worth," Bartley continued, raising his voice for her benefit. "Carlos Oliveira has disappeared. It's possible that he went after her himself."

"Bartley," his companion warned.

"Oh, come on. It won't hurt for them to know."

Claire was not entirely surprised to hear this news. The last time she had spoken to Carlos, he seemed deep in thought. It simply was not like him to stand by and let another suffer, as difficult as it was for her to accept that there were positive aspects to his personality. He may have been a swine when it came to women, but he was good where it counted and that was all that mattered. She did not care if he still harboured feelings for Jill, or even if his motives for sacrifice were purely selfish; she just wanted her friend back.

"Do you need help getting back to your room?" Bartley asked.

"No," Leon sighed. "My legs were cramping up, I think I'll walk around for a little while."

"I have to go," Claire spoke suddenly, almost cutting across Leon's words. "I can't just think about this, I need to be there."

"Don't be-"

"I don't care what you say, Leon," she insisted. "There has to be something I can do and Chris..."

Thoughts of her brother were too painful to consider, but she entertained them anyway.

"And if you go, who is going to stay here and look after me? Not a word, Bartley."

And that was it; the one nerve that was apparently open to assault had been struck.

"Chris needing you is a possibility. There's no 'if' where I'm concerned. Please...stay."

How could she refuse now? Torn three ways, she found that it was her heart that beat in his direction. After so long listening to her mind, she felt that it was about time that she let her heart take the steering wheel.

"Alright," she agreed with a smile. "I'll stay...for you."

* * *

**_August 23, 2003. 1:17am. Verisanda Technologies, Control room._**

Jill estimated that it would take at least twenty minutes at sprint to reach the control room, assuming that no resistance was met. She had no idea how many bioweapons were still lurking in the corridors; if the rescue team encountered any, the journey could be as long as forty minutes. Whatever Nicholai intended to do to her, she knew that she would not be conscious in forty minutes. Her blood now mingled with Tessa's on the floor. Losing a similar volume of blood as a dead woman did not paint an optimistic picture of the near future.

Nicholai paced for several long minutes after the communication ceased. He was not pondering or deliberating, she knew that much. It was all part of his plan, to make her feel as weak and helpless as possible, to fear his intentions to a point that was almost physically painful. He was succeeding.

Given a choice, Jill would have chosen to die surrounded by friends and family, comforted to her last moment. Realistically, she had expected to die brutally yet quickly; a sharp severing of life. What she sensed she equated to cooking a bowl of pasta; setting it to boil, waiting anxiously for the finished product yet finding on each check that it was not quite time.

Finally, Nicholai came to a halt, facing her trembling form.

"Would you have guessed that I am not even disappointed?" he laughed. "Regardless of the outcome of negotiation, I would have won."

As he lowered himself to the ground he pulled his knife once again from his boot. Light did not catch on the sharp instrument, dried blood coating the majority of the blade.

"Now, I think we should begin," he teased, crawling forward until he loomed over her. "After all, we do have a lot to get through."

There was nothing she could do to push him away, every remaining breath dedicated to picking the lock at her wrists. The paperclip slotted easily into the lock but keeping it there was proving to be rather difficult. Blood loss and fatigue had brought tremors to her hands, and the pain at the tip of her finger was simply too great to allow for swift, quiet work. If she cried out, he would catch on to her intentions.

"Do you see that camera up there?" he asked, pointing briefly to a rather conspicuous security camera over his left shoulder. "If protocol is adhered to - as I am sure it will be - those in charge of the rescue mission will review the tapes I have every intention of leaving in the console. As your boyfriend is evidently in charge, he will likely be bound to personally write up the report."

Catching on to his meaning, she set about working at a faster pace. His intentions were obviously not solely to make her suffer. If he brought down Chris Redfield at the same time, he would greatly distort the balance of power. After all, they were both the main concern of the remnants of Umbrella.

"Everything I am about to do to you will be recorded on those tapes," he continued cheerfully. If only he would not be so methodical about the process of murder. "This, Miss Valentine, is my little present to him."

The tip of his blade brushed against her cheek, drawing but a tiny pinprick of blood. His position became increasingly uncomfortable, and the moment his fingertips touched upon her unblemished cheek, she flinched and, as though by reflex, she spat in the face of her captor, wishing to scare him away by any means necessary. But her retaliation backfired when he struck her, the force of the blow forcing her to once again slip down the damp surface of the wall. His fingertips momentarily slid beneath the waistline of her fatigues, violently pulling her closer to his body.

And now, his intentions were crystal clear.

She screamed at the top of her lungs, but knew that nobody could hear. The cuffs remained firmly closed, and the rest of her body was in no fit state for defence.

Her legs flailed uselessly, only making it easier for him to settle between them. His lips smashed against hers, one hand travelling down to her breast as the other held the knife tightly to her throat. Her fingers moved frantically at her back, desperate to afford her just two more limbs to fight with. In a move that thoroughly disgusted her, she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to slide between her teeth before she clamped down, blood dripping into her mouth as he fought back, pulling the knife from against her skin.

Pulling free, he struck her again, fingers then moving to struggle with her belt. Fear spread throughout her body like frostbite, chilling every nerve within her capable of feeling.

"Get off me!" she screamed, knowing that it would do no good but hoping that it would buy her a few more seconds in the name of plain distraction. But his fingers worked fast and the belt was pulled free of her pants, buttons ripped clean off as he tugged at the fabric.

She felt something give beneath her makeshift pick, but no amount of pulling could free her restraints.

His hand slid once again up her body, knife piercing the fabric of her T-shirt.

"Get the fuck off!" she screamed, squeezing her thighs around his waist in an attempt to flip him over so that she finally had an advantage. However, his strength was far greater than hers and the pain that flared throughout her left leg severely weakened any advantage she may have had. Had she truly hoped to succeed?

Suddenly, his fingers were at her throat, pressing her into the ground but not squeezing enough to restrict her breathing.

"And why would I want to do that?" he whispered, having lowered his lips to her ear. She convulsed in disgust as his tongue moistened the inside of her ear. She was so sure that she would throw up once again. "You feel so _warm_."

The hand left her throat and the fear peaked inside her as his body rubbed against hers one final time before he pushed himself upright. Forcibly, he pulled down her fatigues enough to expose what lay beneath, his fingertips sliding over her underwear as he grunted in apparent pleasure. The knife returned, touching the skin below her navel and dragged slowly, terrifyingly lower. She screamed once again as the blade slid beneath her underwear, working at the fabric that held it to her hip like a saw to wood.

She felt the pressure of the lock beneath the paperclip, something catching, providing considerable resistance.

The elastic of her underwear gave way to the curve of his blade, his touch like acid against her skin. But then...

It was as though the cuffs collapsed beneath her, springing open several moments later than she would have liked. Wasting no time, she moved her right arm, putting every ounce of strength that remained into a blow she landed to his Adam's apple. Coughing, spluttering and dazed, he fell backwards, aided by the swift application of a boot to his midriff. She could see that he was hard beneath his trousers and the thought sickened her, made her skin crawl as the realisation of what almost happened dawned on her.

'Don't think; _run!_'

Her legs almost buckled beneath her, pain elevating to a level far past unbearable. But she ignored the pain, willed it to the part of her mind that lingered in shadow, and pulled her fatigues to her waist as she began to move unsteadily out into the hallway.

The wall was her guide as she stumbled away, fearfully realising that her steps were far too slow to place adequate distance between them both. But she pushed on, moving as fast as was physically possible. Bloody trails were left in the wake of her touch against the wall, and she simply could not remain quiet. Her breathing had become ragged, tears streamed down her face in response to both pain and fear and now she could not make one step without crying out.

She had barely made it to the doorway of the next room when he caught up to her, tackling her into what had evidently once been a bioweapons storage room. Left with no opportunity to take in her surroundings, she was flipped onto her back.

Barely a moment had passed before his fist collided with her cheekbone. But she was prepared, and savagely returned the blow, weakening him enough to knock him back onto the tiled floor. The foot of her uninjured leg struck out, pounding into his calf before he composed himself enough to retaliate. He was stronger than her without the added benefit of her injuries; how could she hope to make this an even fight?

Blow after blow rained down on her, the force enough to render the feeling that her eyeballs would pop right out of their sockets. Blood filled her mouth, pooled into her left eye. Her vision swam red, hands pushing weakly against the legs that pinned her to the ground. It was not until he paused to reach for his knife that she was afforded an opportunity. With strength that surprised them both, she pushed against him, catching him off guard and sending him crashing to the cold tile floor.

But what good had it done? She could barely move, every square inch of her body aching. As she rolled onto her front, bracing herself against the ground with weak arms, blood dripped from her mouth onto the sterile white tiles. The left side of her face felt impossibly large, sight lost in her left eye.

From somewhere above her, Nicholai laughed.

"Feisty," he wheezed, overcome with laughter. "Don't you understand the futility of your situation?"

Oh, but she did. She was a fish out of water, struggling for breath as she moved uselessly against the floor. Nicholai's knife rested on the floor by her head. His boots slapped against tile, the echo resounding around the otherwise silent room. From out of nowhere, she felt the toe of his boot collide with her stomach, forcing every last molecule of oxygen from her body.

"It is a shame," he sighed, voice distorted from an obviously swollen tongue. "You look truly repulsive now. I guess I'll just have to kill you."

It was then that Nicholai made the mistake of taking but a single step backwards. Not three feet behind him stood an empty specimen cage, his discarded knife within easy reach. Unsure of how exactly she was able to follow through on intention, Jill pushed herself to her feet and slammed the palms of her hands into his shoulders, pushing forward on weakened legs. The blow was unexpected, and he stumbled backwards, tripping over the edge of the cage. She wasted no time and pulled at the barred door, dragging it along until the electronic lock snapped shut.

But it was only seconds before his hand reached out through the bars, fingers wrapping tightly around her throat. Now both hands were against her skin, squeezing until she felt her lungs burn, craving oxygen that simply was not coming. Her fingernails clawed desperately at his hands, but their grip remained strong, the handle of his knife impeding her ability to-

'The knife! Now is not a good time to lose your common sense.'

His blood spilled onto her collar as soon as the blade had pierced his flesh. She was barely conscious, his hand all that was keeping her upright. For all her hacking, he refused to let go, stubbornly clinging to revenge she feared had already proven successful. It was the final blow that dislodged his grip, the blow that sent the knife through the back of his hand. Had he not recoiled in agony she was sure that the tip of the blade would have lodged in her throat, perhaps piercing her jugular vein.

Instead, she stumbled back safely, well out of the reach of his murderous hands. But where was her victory? Her vision was almost non-existent, every muscle weakened, every nerve sending messages her brain was too dazed to interpret. There was not a point in her body that did not ache.

'How much blood did I lose?'

"Jill!"

Somewhere in the distance, she was sure that someone called her name. Happiness did not replace fear, did not alleviate her pain. The sinking feeling that it was too late overcame her. She was hallucinating; nobody was coming to save her. She would be dead by the time Chris found her.

"Jill!"

And then her legs gave way. Strangely, she did not hit the ground. Hands gripped her waist, gently lowering her onto warm knees. She tried to make sense of it, to piece together the fragments of perception that came to her.

"Oh no... Hold on, hear my voice."

Hear his voice? She could not recognise its tune, though it did sound awfully familiar. It rippled and distorted, as though played through a broken radio or a cassette player with a fading battery.

"Come on, baby, don't do this to me!"

Something moist fell against her cheek. But it was the last thing she felt. The abyss that had been looming beneath her for quite some time opened up, roared wildly and then swallowed her with its darkness.

At long last, there was no pain.

**AN - Please review :)**


	13. While Your Lips Are Still Red

**AN - **I can't believe it's only been a week since I updated. It feels like I've been working on this chapter forever! After this chapter there is only one more left and then the epilogue. There is an extra chapter (a second epilogue), but I think it works out better if I post it as a oneshot to sort of bridge the gap between this and the next story, because keeping it here would mean ending this story on a tone I don't think fits it anymore. Chapter title is from a song by Nightwish.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I was truly thrilled with the response to the last chapter, so thank you so much! It motivated me enough to get this chapter finished so quickly (it would have been up much earlier but computer issues held me back). Thank you to _Ninja-Gnome, Black Metalmark, Kenshin13, Chaed, Razial, Ivilith, xSummonerYunax_ and _Supermodel Sandwich_. Your continued support means more to me than I can put into words.

* * *

**Blindside**

_**Chapter Twelve**__ - While Your Lips Are Still Red_

_'It's often just enough to be with someone.  
I don't need to touch them. Not even talk.  
A feeling passes between you both. You're not alone.'  
~Marilyn Monroe~_

_**August 23, 2003. 1:45am. Verisanda Technologies, Inner Sanctum.**_

At the current extremes he pushed his body to, Chris was sure that his energy would soon fail. His legs ached, though it was to be expected. He had never ran quite so fast in his life.

The control room lay ahead, he knew it, and DeChant knew it too. Perhaps this was why the older man ran at a speed to match his, hoping to hold him back if the worst possibility turned out to be a reality. Chris did not blame him, did not know himself just what he would do if all they found was her body.

Surprisingly, there was no resistance to their progress and security features did not activate as they progressed through the administrative offices, bearing down on their target destination. It was mere metres away, every step bringing them closer to...

To what?

DeChant sprinted ahead of him, almost slipping in the doorway as his boots touched upon a spreading pool of blood. Tessa Newburn lay motionless on the floor; he knew that she was dead before Connolly felt for a pulse. The traitor had perished, but where was Jill?

There was more blood beside the body, a pool formed separate from that which had spread around the deceased medic. A small amount was painted on the wall, that which coated the floor spread around evidently by an individual who no longer remained in the vicinity. There was little doubt that the blood belonged to Jill; a small pool of vomit mingled with the crimson at one side, an open pair of handcuffs lying by Tessa's thigh.

Immediately, he believed that she had been taken. All of that hope and optimism for nothing. The blood was substantial; wherever she was, she would be in desperate need of a transfusion.

"Next room!" DeChant hollered suddenly, scrutinising the security monitors. "Go! Go! Go!"

Though all six soldiers filed out, Chris pushed forward into the lead, weapon held tightly to his shoulder. Bloody handprints were smeared up one wall, droplets of crimson seeping into the cracks of the floor tiles; how had they not noticed this before?

His hopes rose as he turned into the room, eyes trained straight ahead. But it was Carlos that he saw, his back to the doorway, arms holding a bloody form to his body.

"Jill?" he gasped, lowering his weapon to drop to his knees in front of Carlos, finding that his initial assumption had been correct. At least, he assumed so.

He barely recognised the face that was lost in what he hoped and pleaded was merely sleep. Rage mingled with disgust, heartache and fear. Her left eye had swollen shut, lips plumper than usual. Several cuts were visible against her skin and he was sure that the thin layer of blood that painted her complexion red disguised severe bruising.

Slowly, he allowed Carlos to pass her into his arms, careful that he did not aggravate obvious wounds.

"What happened?" he asked, barely able to croak the question.

"I-I don't know," Carlos breathed. Panic afflicted every word, previously shed tears glistening on his cheeks. "I heard...screams, but they were so far away. She was barely awake when I found her. I tried...I tried to keep her conscious but she just...slipped away."

Chris could not offer a single thought to him, as cruel as he knew this to be. His only concern was the woman in his arms.

Her T-shirt was torn, though he could see no visible wounds beneath the fabric. Arms that were stained with blood remained unblemished; it was possible that the blood was not hers. Gently, he brushed his fingertips against the skin of her arms, gliding down to her wrists before he carefully took her hands in his. Fresh blood trickled onto his thumb and he turned her right hand carefully, bile rising in his throat as he observed the torn skin of her middle finger.

'Who could do this?' he seethed inwardly.

A weak pulse was felt beneath his touch, and blood no longer flowed from a surface wound to her abdomen. But suddenly, his blood ran cold. Anger that he could barely contain wracked his body as his eyes traced the incision, revealing fabric that had been brutally ripped apart. A tendril of her cotton underwear snaked between the tears in her fatigues, severed roughly by a sharpened blade. The skin beneath had started to bruise, her belt suspiciously absent. Breath caught in his throat, panic rising within.

"What the fuck-" he began, jaw set as he demanded answers from Carlos. But movement against his abdomen distracted him, a shaky intake of breath drawing his eyes back to the woman he clung to in gentle desperation.

"Jill," he spoke softly, failing to hide his smile as her eyelids fluttered open momentarily.

"Chris?" she gasped. "Is that-"

"It's me, baby," he laughed quietly. He brought his hand to her cheek, gently caressing skin that appeared to bear no injury. "It's okay, you're safe now."

Her eyelids drooped, and her head rolled willingly against his arm. He could almost feel her fatigue, sympathy preying on him.

"Is it...over?" she wanted to know.

"Yes," he assured her. "It's over. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. But you have to stay with me, you hear? Hold on."

The rumble of the wheels of the stretcher Connolly had insisted be brought drew closer, and suddenly Chris and Carlos were not alone at her side.

"Jill!" Connolly called as he shone a light into her eyes. "Can you hear me?"

She nodded weakly; evidently the only response she was able to give.

"Good," he sighed in obvious relief. "I need to know, have you suffered any blows to the head?"

Chris clutched her tightly, possessively as she winced in pain, turning away from the medic's probing hands.

"A...few," she informed him.

"She was unconscious when I found her," Carlos pointed out, distracting Connolly for a few seconds.

"Alright," the medic concluded. "Pupils are responsive, but the possibility of TBI rules out sedation. Jill, I'm going to give you a shot of morphine for the pain. If you would prefer something a little weaker, I can-"

"No!" she pleaded. "M-morphine sounds...good."

Connolly chuckled and reached for an ampoule handed to him by another agent. Chris had remained oblivious to the others, to the buzz of activity that now surrounded them.

"Alright," Connolly soothed as he gently pulled out her arm. "This is just a low dose, enough to tide you over until we get you to a hospital."

She flinched as the needle pierced her arm, skin obviously tender. But Chris continued to hold her; nothing short of hellfire could tear her from his arms. As painful as it was to consider, he knew that her condition looked bleak. Her skin had never adopted such a pale pallor, not even in times of illness.

"How does it look?" he asked, unable to remain silent a moment longer. Connolly's expression was grave but he offered a hopeful smile nonetheless.

"She has lost a lot of blood," he explained. "It looks as though she walked here herself from the other room, and succeeded in tackling a man twice her size into that cage."

Chris glanced over his shoulder, nothing but hatred in his heart for the man behind the bars. It seemed as though he were in a fair amount of pain himself, blood flowing freely over his hands. But Chris did not care. Whatever the bastard was going through, it was nowhere near what he deserved. Had the decision been his, he would have chosen to let him rot in his makeshift prison.

"If the bullet had hit bone I highly doubt that would have been possible," Connolly continued, carefully wrapping a fresh bandage around Jill's wounded hand. "But we don't know what kind of damage it has done and we won't until we get her to a more appropriate facility. The fingernail should grow back, but she's going to be in a lot of pain for a while."

His hands drifted to the skin of her stomach, pushing up her black, standard-issue T-shirt to reveal considerable bruising.

"Shit," he swore, hands beginning to shake. He pressed his fingertips to her hairline, briefly observing the pallor of her skin before he held the fingers of her left hand, turning next to abnormally pale lips. "She's in hypovolemic shock, bleeding could be internal. We have to get her out of here. Chris, can you lift her onto the stretcher?"

Chris wasted no time, and carefully lifted her as he rose to his feet. He felt the blood that dripped down his own leg, and moved as fast as he could with her weight in his arms. She was suddenly unresponsive, seemingly asleep in his arms. But he knew better than to trust initial impressions.

"Alright people, move out!" Connolly demanded. And then, she was gone, all that remained of her the blood that stained his clothes.

He found that his hands shook, though from unease or fatigue he did not know. Though he had found her, had even held her in his arms, his mind simply refused to be at ease. What condition had they found her in? She held the appearance of one at death's door, and the scene she had been plucked from was a positive bloodbath.

'I can't lose her,' he pleaded to whoever may be listening. 'Please help her pull through this.'

"Shit, we're going to need a specialist to get this open," fumed a voice behind him. Of course...Nicholai.

The adversary was not entirely what Chris had been expecting. Those who displayed intelligence in their speech patterns were often physically disadvantaged somehow, but there was nothing physically lacking about Nicholai Ginovaef. Though he remained on the floor of the restrictive cage, he was evidently taller than Chris, and much heavier. Muscular and broad, Chris acknowledged that he would prove a tough opponent even to him. To Jill's measly 120lbs he was practically a tyrant.

Chris swallowed his anger as reached down to collect a bloody knife by his feet, wondering just how much of the stain had been caused by actions against his lover. It would have been so easy to overpower her, especially in her weakened state. She would likely have been unable to fight back, even to scream as-

'There's no proof,' a sane voice reminded him.

He brandished the knife as he stepped up to the cage, DeChant stepping warily aside to otherwise occupy himself with the radio.

"Is this your knife?" he asked calmly, staring down at the wounded man. He could see clearly now that the hand he cradled had been harshly mutilated, the pinky of his left hand held to the knuckle by little more than a sliver of flesh. "I think she cut off the wrong appendage."

Nicholai chuckled, deep laughter unsettling every soldier within earshot.

"What the fuck did you do to her?" Chris demanded. Of course, he had nothing with which to threaten the man. Revelation would be mere courtesy.

"Nothing you haven't done, I'm sure," Nicholai smiled. He seemed not to even feel the pain within his hand. Or perhaps taunting him was a far more appealing use of energy? "Now I know what you see in her. So tight, so..._supple_."

The cage rattled as Chris pounced at the bars, though his actions only seemed to please the prisoner. His vision ran red, heart urging him to reach for his weapon, to fill that body with bullets for what it did to her.

'And how would that make you any better than him?'

Chris froze. It truly wouldn't, and Nicholai knew that as well as he did.

"You see, 'fuck' is the operant word," Nicholai teased. He raised himself to his knees, crawled towards the bars until Chris would be able to reach through and inflict whatever physical damage he pleased. "Don't worry; I made sure she had a good time. Does that make you angry? You could kill me right now...just take that knife to my throat. You know I'll win if you do. Because deep down, we're all the same. I am sure that you want nothing more than to rip me limb from limb right now. Why deny yourself the inevitable pleasure? You know it will feel good...and therein lies my point."

There may have been truth in his words, but Chris knew that he had restraint, however weak it may have felt in that moment. Nicholai did not attempt to excuse his actions or to cease from carrying them out. It was action, not desire that was the measure of evil. Love may make a man crazy, but Chris felt that it reinforced his values, not shattered them completely. And so, he discarded the knife, listening to it clatter behind him as Nicholai sighed in disappointment.

"Tell me, Chris, does she always cry when she comes? Because I found it somewhat of a buzzkill."

He did not know exactly what powered his arm, but something forced it to recoil and to send his fist furiously between the bars and into the smug awaiting face. Pain radiated from the point of impact and he gritted his teeth as he shook the tension from his hand, the supportive chuckles of his comrades echoing around him.

"That was just the beginning," he warned, leaning in close to the bars. "Justice will take care of you but if you ever find yourself alone with me, expect so much more."

Nicholai laughed as Chris turned from the cage to catch Carlos's eye with a wry smile.

"It's a date," he called joyfully, overcome with hysterical laughter. "We can compare notes!"

Carlos shook his head, stepping around Chris to address the agent who attempted to release the cage's rather escape-proof lock.

"Do you mind if I...?" he asked. The agent chuckled as a smile twisted his lips.

"Be my guest," he acquiesced.

The second blow sent Nicholai painfully onto his backside, finally rendering him Chris's arm and guided him towards the door, meeting no protest from the man himself.

"Get him out of there," Chris growled to the remaining officers. "I suppose you should make sure he gets to a hospital too...just not the same one as our men."

He could not bear the thought of Jill facing her captor after this. She would likely wake a broken woman, scarred from actions that appeared to have been committed quite cheerfully...if she ever woke at all. But no matter what the outcome, he would stand by her side. Whether recovery spanned days, weeks or even years, he would be there in whatever capacity she needed him.

'She should never have been put in this position in the first place,' he fumed, though anger had subsided to make way for something incredibly woeful.

"Come on," Carlos urged, taking him away from the scene as quickly as was possible. "We need to get to the hospital; they can handle the rest."

* * *

_**August 23, 2:10am. St. Bernadette Hospital. El Paso, Texas.**_

"Where the hell are you going?" Claire demanded, following Leon with what now amounted to little more than impatience. His casual stroll had led them around the majority of the hospital, and she began to fear for his state of mind, unsure of exactly what he hoped to achieve.

"I don't want to stay in that room," he insisted angrily. "I'm fine, I just need to keep moving."

Claire raised an eyebrow, grateful at least that he had finally come to a stop. She glanced over his shoulder, frowning at the electronic doors of the emergency room. How had they even gotten this far? Would they be able to find their way back? More to the point, why had nobody attempted to stop them?

"Well, this looks like an escape attempt to me," she pointed out. "And since Bartley trusted me with you I'm going to have to intervene."

Leon smirked deviously, and she balked unexpectedly. The initial drowsiness and weakness that had conquered him appeared to have dissipated, leaving behind the man who often irritated her to the back teeth. With added oomph, courtesy of a strong dosage of painkillers.

Slowly and uneasily, he lowered himself onto a vacant chair, drawing the suspicious gazes of the residents of the emergency room waiting area. Various injuries were on display, though he remained alone in his hospital-issue garb. Claire thanked her lucky stars that his gown did not happen to be backless.

"Does this make you feel any better?" he asked.

She unfolded her arms from across her chest and sneered silently at him before sinking into the seat at his side. If for no other purpose than to distract her from external events, she admittedly enjoyed their friendly argument. He was in the mood to wind her up and she was in the mood to entertain him; both sides won.

"What's on your mind, Red?" he asked. For a moment he considered winding his arm around her shoulders, but then realised that it remained solidly in a sling that he had been warned on pain of death not to remove.

Claire remained silent in her thoughts, attempting to discern the answer for herself. There was for too much to concern him with.

"Chris," she sighed. It was the simplest answer; Redfields valued family above all else, and so family was always on the mind. "My brother needs me."

"He needs Jill," he corrected her, a little too harshly for her liking.

"In case you hadn't heard, she's preoccupied," Claire snapped. "Damn it, why am I even talking to you? I should be-"

"Right here with me," Leon pointed out. "Even if you somehow managed to find your way to the base, what would you do? Chris would be otherwise occupied; you would be alone with nothing to do and nobody to distract you...and quite possibly in handcuffs."

Though his point was valid, she fumed nonetheless. Regardless of her options, she should at least try to help.

'And get yourself hurt in the process? Remember what happened the last time you tried to help Chris?'

Despite the goodness of her intentions, they very often landed her in trouble. If the figure of speech was correct, she would be at the gates of hell by the age of thirty.

But if her resolve was so absolute, why did she remain with Leon?

Tentatively, she reached for his unbound hand, relishing the feel of his warm skin against hers. At first he did not respond, but his fingers soon wound around hers, bruised badly from the day's events. There was little doubting her motive for remaining; Leon had meant more to her than a mere friend should for quite some time now. But what exactly those feelings were, she did not know. She had never been involved to a greater degree than simple fooling around, had never allowed herself to fall in love. Was that truly what she felt? Because it presented itself as a dull ache in the pit of her stomach, and she knew that anything capable of causing discomfort could not be good.

"I envy you," Leon whispered. "I wish I could drop everything and just...well, be more of a pacifist. In my line of work you are surrounded by violence and death; one day it is bound to strike close to home."

Claire did not view her position in the same way as Leon; there was nothing advantageous about pacifism. While her friends were out on the field, she sat behind a desk, hoping for the best, praying that they would all come back. It was never her life on the line, she did not fight the way they did.

She remained silent, choosing not to reply. But still, he held onto her hand, his smile breaking through her pessimism. It was amazing what a little kindness could do.

There was a sudden commotion at the door, the ominous rattle of a hospital trolley steadily approaching the waiting area. Claire glanced over her shoulder only out of habit; the emergency room was no stranger to such events. Medical staff rushed from an unseen direction, game faces firmly in place as they reached the stretcher, taking over from...

"That's the BSAA," Claire muttered, her hand slipping from Leon's as she pushed herself to her feet. The uniform was hauntingly familiar, though she recognised not one of the faces.

"Female, twenty-eight-years-old," called a relatively young agent, tall with dark cropped hair and a face she never would have associated with such a violent profession. "Ballistic trauma possibly to the vastus lateralus; no exit wound but artefact has been removed. She is extremely tachycardic, weak pulse; suspected stage four hypovolemic shock."

Though she willed her legs not to move, she found that they moved of their own volition.

"Systolic pressure?"

"Insufficient and still falling," the black-clad agent responded. "Suspected repeated blunt trauma to head and abdomen, possible internal bleeding. She lost consciousness approximately five minutes ago."

The stretcher rolled past her, orders barked into the heavy atmosphere as the face that rested against thin pillows slowly slid into view.

"Oh my God," she whispered, legs trembling beneath her. "Jill?"

A thin sheet concealed all that lay below neck-line but fresh blood seeped through the material, painting morbid flowers against the grey. Her skin was a deathly shade of pale, her left eye lost beneath considerable bruising. Her friend was there somewhere, she knew that, but she did not recognise this face.

Leon was still beside her, her expression as blank as her emotional state. He blamed himself; she could sense it. But what could he have done? What could any of them have done?

'It's too late to find out,' she realised with a solemn heart.

Chris wandered close to the trolley, Carlos hot on his heels. Her eyes lingered on them both, not sure if she wanted to believe anything her sight revealed to her. He was a mess, though all things considered, he was in almost perfect shape. Light reflected off damp patches on his clothing; shed blood, and she doubted that it was his.

She tried to offer words of support as she approached him, still now that Jill had been taken elsewhere, but no words left her throat. His cold blue eyes lingered on the swaying doors, almost a minute passing before they snapped to her, seemingly surprised to find her suddenly at his side.

Truly, she had expected an embrace, comfort sought amidst tragedy. But he turned, nodding to Carlos before they both took their leave.

"W-What?" she gasped incredulously. He could not be doing this! "You're just walking away?"

And so he was.

His expression haunted her long after he disappeared into the next department; cold, empty. It may as well have been him that lay beneath the blood-soaked blanket. In his mind, Claire knew that in some way he was. The depth of his feelings for his partner had previously appeared to her as endearing, but now she saw that they were his Achilles' Heel. The tendon had been plucked, and she knew now that recovery was solely dependent on the potency of the poison. If she died, so too would the brother she knew and loved.

The tears fell before she was aware of the sensation, and the damage had been done by the time her hands rose to mop away the pesky leakage. But then, the strangest thing happened. Her vision fell dark, warmth surrounded her and something gentle yet strong rubbed her back, chasing away feelings that had finally gotten the better of her.

"It's okay," Leon hushed, his lips brushing against her scalp. The scent of battle still lingered on his skin, but she did not mind. All she felt was the softness of his embrace and the kindness that swept around her and willed her to a better state of mind.

"Come on," he urged, though maintained his hold. "We'll find out what's going on."

* * *

_**August 23, 2:00pm. St. Bernadette Hospital. El Paso, Texas.**_

Allowing his emotionally frazzled sister to persuade him into returning to the hotel for some much needed rest was not such a good idea, he realised. Allowing her to accompany him was his second mistake. Though she had left him to slumber in peace, she had deviously reset the alarm before exiting. While he recognised that her intentions were pure, he could not help but feel angry and annoyed. It was with great reluctance that he had left Jill's side, intending to return after the two hours of sleep he had hoped would satisfy his sister.

It was far past noon when he finally rose, aches and pains that had not been present the previous night setting in. Neglecting to shave and pleased that he had showered before retiring to bed, he threw on the nearest items of clothing he could find and rushed to the hospital, hoping and praying that her ordeal had come to a pleasant end. But all that met him upon arrival was the vague confirmation that she lived and several refusals to be taken to her side.

"She needs to rest," they had said. "Her physician has not yet cleared her for visitors."

Carlos was waiting outside her private room when he arrived but left soon after. There was a lot he felt that he needed to say to him, so much gratitude that he simply did not know how to express. It made no sense that they should not remain with in ten feet of one another. Hope forced him to believe that he left to provide him with much needed space.

The lack of information was beginning to terrify him. All he needed was to know that she was going to be alright.

"I'm sorry," Claire apologised, startling him with her sudden appearance. "But...you needed to rest."

He shook his head hastily, finding no harsh words to send her way.

"It's alright," he assured her. "All this waiting probably would have killed me."

As she set herself down at his side, she reached for his arm, right hand sliding against his back. It was a small comfort but in that moment it meant the world to him.

"She'll be okay," she whispered. "Have faith."

Faith? Chris scoffed at the word. There was very little left to have faith in anymore. No matter which team he had been placed in, or what his actions may have been, it would always be Jill that ended up in the hospital bed and not him. It was pure luck that had pulled him through life and seemed to follow him obsessively wherever he went. How else could he explain his miraculous escape from Spencer's mansion, his narrow miss of the Raccoon epidemic, his flight from right beneath Wesker's nose in the Antarctic...his recent escape from the depths of the Verisanda laboratories? How else could he explain his relationship with Jill?

He had never expected to settle down, had always believed that he would spend his life travelling from one short-lived relationship to another, never falling in love. But he had, and by some bizarre act of fate, she had returned that love. Jill could have been with any man she wanted, and yet she had chosen him.

Hoping upon all futile hope, he prayed that this was not the instance in which that luck failed.

The door to their right opened slowly, a middle-aged doctor stepping through as he continued to scribble on the clipboard that balanced precariously on his arm. Without a second thought, Chris jumped to his feet, startling Claire with his sudden movement.

"How is she?" he asked, hoping that this physician was a little more talkative than the nurses.

To his utmost delight, the doctor's smile at least seemed genuine.

"Much better this afternoon," he explained, smile not once faltering. "It's amazing what a little transfusion can do."

And the weight that had been pressing down on his chest lifted, allowing him to draw his first true breath in over twelve hours.

"What happened?" he pressed. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Absolutely," the doctor assured him, finally lowering his clipboard to his side to address the anxious two properly. "She was extremely lucky that the bullet impacted where it did. She suffered tissue damage, but fortunately bone remained intact and no major nerves or arteries were hit. She should be back on her feet in seven to ten days, assuming she rests her leg well, keeps the wound clean and sticks with the course of antibiotics we have prescribed her. The severed fingernail should grow back, so no permanent damage there."

Every assurance brightened his spirits, until he was unable to keep the smile from his lips. But was it premature? He found it difficult to accept that she was, indeed, alright. There had been so much blood, and she sure did not look alright. And then there were Connolly's words...

"Our medic thought she may have internal bleeding," he told the doctor. "He also said something about TBI, and...hypovolemic shock?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," the doctor smiled. Chris decided that he liked this man. "The bruising on her abdomen was indicative of internal bleeding but as it turned it, it was simply surface bruising, likely from blunt trauma. It's painful, but not life threatening. Hypovolemic shock is not uncommon in cases of blood loss; basically, the heart cannot supply enough oxygenated blood to the body. Despite the volume of blood that Miss Valentine lost, treatment proved highly successful. Of course, we'll have to keep her here for the next few days in case she takes a turn for the worse, but I see no reason why she should not make a full, swift recovery. Scans showed no signs of traumatic brain injury or damage to the skull or spine, which was one of our greatest concerns. All in all, she is extremely lucky. She will likely be in a lot of pain for the next few days, but we'll make sure she is taken care of."

Claire gripped his hand and he could sense her smile, knowing that it rivalled his own. But there was still one worry that lingered, one that sickened him to consider. Just how long would her ordeal remain with her? How fatal could it prove?

"Is she-" He paused involuntarily. To even consider the thought was sickening, but it was a likely outcome of her ordeal and one that must be considered and rectified before it caused her further harm. "She's not pregnant, is she?"

The doctor glanced at his chart, shaking his head a moment later.

"There were no signs of pregnancy," he answered. "Unfortunately, the blows to her abdomen would have been enough to cause miscarriage if- Oh!"

His eyes widened, Chris's true meaning suddenly sinking in.

"Our examination was quite thorough," he assured him, meeting his gaze intensely. "There was no evidence of forced intercourse; I hope that puts your mind at ease."

Though it was the answer he had hoped to hear, he had convinced himself that it simply was not possible. He had witnessed the torn fabric of her underwear with his own eyes, had seen the bruising on her hips. She had been heavily injured, suffering from a considerable loss of blood. According to Connolly, the bruising on her hips was quite recent at the time of her discovery. Evidently, the effects of blood loss and the multiple injuries she had already suffered at that point would have weakened her considerably. He pieced the evidence together in his mind, as though he were working a case and not considering the events that had landed the woman he loved in hospital.

Nicholai was a big man. While Jill was strong in her own right, it was her speed and agility that gave her an edge. Wounded, she was disadvantaged in both areas and her captor appeared to be the type of man who would exploit that. He also appeared to by the type of man to follow through on such an act. He would not have simply let her go.

'The bastard was lying,' he realised.

"There was considerable bruising to her knuckles," the doctor revealed slowly. "She held her own, otherwise her assailant would be in a prison cell, not in a hospital."

Of course. She would not be the Jill Valentine he knew and loved without that fiery spirit. But even so, to fight back after all she had already been through? He appeared to have underestimated her resilience. Did she know how proud of her he was right now?

"Can I...Can I see her?" he asked.

"Of course," the doctor nodded. "We gave her something for the pain so she is a little out of it at the moment, but she is conscious. I assume you are Chris?"

A quick nod confirmed his suspicion.

"She has actually been asking for you. Just make sure that she doesn't try to get out of bed. But that shouldn't be a problem. Like I said, she's...a little out of it."

The doctor's expression turned to one of unease as he walked away, playing on existing concerns within the two individuals he left behind. Claire leaned in close, embracing him closely as he voiced his appreciation.

"I'll go check on Leon and Mike," she let him know. "I'll come back later. I know you want to be alone with her."

Again, he thanked her, though was somewhat reluctant to watch her leave. He did not know what awaited him on the other side of that door and was admittedly a little terrified to face her.

But love overpowered reluctance and he stepped inside, the steady beep of her monitor filling his ears as the closing door drowned out the hubbub of the hospital corridor.

"Hey!" spoke a quiet, heavily-medicated voice. He had barely pulled the door flush with its frame when she spoke.

He smiled as he gazed upon her, hovering by the door for a few short moments before pulling an adjacent chair closer to the bed and lowering himself into it. The original light tan had returned to her skin, her full lips once again pink. It made the world of difference, and the concern he felt was reduced to levels that were somewhat easier to tolerate. Even the swelling at her eye seemed less pronounced, bruising severe but less frightening without the accent of blood.

"Hey," he whispered back. "You had us all worried back there."

She frowned a little, and tilted her head to glance over his shoulder.

"Lots of flowers..." she sighed. He did not know how he had failed to notice the sea of colour as he had stepped into the room; dozens of flowers, separated into several bouquets, decorated the bedside cabinet. Three cards were propped between the vases, each bearing a heartfelt wish of good health.

'They sure move quickly,' he thought to himself. Not even twelve hours had passed since her admittance to the hospital, yet half of the rescue team had sent their well-wishes in the form of a positive explosion of colour. They succeeded in brightening up the room, such a stark contrast to the clinical décor and stuffy atmosphere of the small room.

"Which ones are yours?" Jill asked. And it was at this point that his heart sank. Truth be told, he had not thought of flowers, too concerned with her wellbeing and the persistent desire to be by her side.

"I didn't have time to go to a florist," he apologised. "And you're worth a hell of a lot more than a five dollar bouquet from the gift shop."

She giggled childishly, wide grin illuminating her features.

"I don't need flowers when I have you," she laughed, pressing the tip of her index finger to his nose on the last word. "You..."

The finger tapped against his nose three more times before laughter overcame him. It occurred to him that he should remain more composed in such a situation, but he simply could not help himself. Whatever they had given her, it sure was strong. Capturing her hand in his, he pressed his lips against the back, kissing up her fingertips and over the heavy bandaging that bound her middle finger.

"On the lips, dummy," she pleaded, and what could he do but acquiesce?

She tasted sweet against his tongue, tainted only by the distant copper tang of blood. Though he tried to be gentle, Jill had other ideas and he suddenly found that he was the submissive party in this kiss, folding to her desire as she often did to his. The delightful friction teased suppressed emotions, carved a serious of recent memories into his mind's eye.

'She wouldn't be in this position if it wasn't for you. You failed her, you left her to the mercy of that monster.'

It was she who recognised his tears, severing contact when she felt moisture against her skin. Never before had he shed tears in her presence. He was always so composed, even in the times he could feel himself slowly dying inside. Men did not cry, he knew that much. He was no stranger to tears, but he did not wish for her to know this side to him. He was a soldier in her eyes; strong and sturdy, never faltering, the epitome of masculinity. But this time, the tears glistened in the dim light, betraying him as he knew he deserved.

"Oh, no," she pleaded. "No, no, no! Please don't cry."

But her insistence only spurred him on further, as did the fingertips that attempted to smudge away his tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Sorry did not quite cut it, but it was all he could think of to say. "I should have been there for you; I should have...done something. I didn't know..."

Jill frowned and attempted to pull him into an embrace but he refused. He did not deserve comfort, not from her. If he had only fought for her, pushed harder for her rescue then she would not have suffered for so long, would perhaps not even be in hospital at all.

"You did all you could," she told him; a sober voice through an intoxicated mind. "He would have killed me if you had tried anything and you know that. You did your job and I am so proud of you...I know how your emotions can get a little out of control sometimes."

All of his emotion formed a ball in his stomach, a ball which rose slowly, sure to choke him, sure to poison him internally. She was proud of him for leaving her to the mercy of a madman? Sure, he had stayed true to protocol and performed his role perfectly, but how could he be proud of himself when his orders, his _actions_ even, had caused her so much harm? It was his job as both her partner and her boyfriend to protect her, and he had failed on both accounts.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," she breathed, her right eye watering. "I love you so much that I...I just don't know how to handle it. I get a little crazy sometimes and I'll admit that I'm often insecure. I have a tendency to ruin every good thing that comes my way; it was only a matter of time before I tried it with you. I was so childish..."

Laughing softly, he took her hand once again into his, amazed by the strength in her grip. She was not the only partner with this tendency. Together, their relationship was volatile, but the foundations were solid and perhaps that was all that truly mattered?

"I don't want a hysterectomy," she confessed. "And I sure as hell don't want you to get the snip. I was scared, Chris, and I wasn't thinking straight and I'm sorry that I took it out on you. I'm still scared, but...if I have to relinquish every hope I have, I'll be happy as long as I still have you. Because all of that stuff, everything that I want...it's just not worth it without you. And...and now _I'm_ crying."

Rather than brush away her tears, he smiled down at her, gripping her hand tightly in his as they shared in a mutual moment of self-degredation. He had almost forgotten about their previous argument. Her hand moved again, reaching for his neck to pull him down for a second kiss. Moisture mingled on tear-stained cheeks as he braced himself against the bed, afraid that he would fall on her if he made one wrong move.

"Let's make a promise," he whispered, lips brushing gently against hers. "Let's be selfish from now on."

"I can do that," she sighed happily. "Mmm, you smell good."

His laughter this time was more joyful and he gently brushed his fingers across the bruising on her cheek, sweeping fallen hair from her eyes.

"You might want to stop talking now," he advised. "Otherwise you're going to regret this when the morphine wears off."

"No, I'm serious!" she insisted. Whatever sobriety that had descended upon her moments earlier appeared to have dissipated. "If I move in with you your sheets will start to smell like me. What's the point in waking up if- What? Why are you laughing?"

Tears of mirth now rolled down his cheeks, though he knew he would regret them when she was taken off the opioids. It was strange to him that in the space of twelve hours, everything could change. He would not have envisioned himself smiling so soon, or holding her hand as she dug herself deeper and deeper into humiliation with every word she spoke. It was how he wanted things to be between them; carefree and blissful, knowing that there was nowhere in the world they would rather be than in each other's company.

"I can't lift my head," she suddenly realised.

Chris pressed his lips to her forehead, showing her with a tender kiss that she did not need to move. Though the medication had spirited away her pain, her body still felt the effects of her ordeal and probably would for some time. But she was a fighter and, as usual, he expected her to halve the doctor's estimated recovery time.

"Why did I think that we were going to have children?" she mused aloud. He wondered if she had indeed intended to speak these words aloud. "We've only been dating five months."

It had not occurred to him, but now a single thought blossomed into many and he was left wondering the same thing. He had been so quick to assure her that they could adopt, that _somehow_ they would have children. She had not yet consented to living with him and he had not yet asked for her hand in marriage.

'Don't pretend the thought never crossed your mind,' a secretive voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Because he had considered it, had even pondered the many ways he could propose. It was not a question of if, but of when. He loved her and now that he had her, he was never going to let her go. But their life was far from ideal and there was no room for weddings. Wesker remained at large, as did Spencer, and they simply could not afford to become wrapped up in one another and deal with yet another bond to bind them. Their marriage would fall apart and he did not want that. Love was all they had, quiet and subdued. No marriage, no children, not even the promise of a future. Even so, it was far from bittersweet; they had each other and that was all that they ever truly wanted.

"It's not unreasonable," he told her, elated to find that his words brought happiness to her eyes. "Because I love you deeply and I know that I always will."

Her eyes closed to his words, her smile brilliant as she hummed softly in delight.

"You know, Chris Redfield..." she sighed happily. "I could spend the rest of my life with you."

His first thought was that it was the drugs that spoke and not his lover, but intoxication rarely spawned lies; it revealed truths that were desperately kept secret. And this was hers, straight from the heart.

Chris pressed his lips tenderly to hers, stroking her cheek in the hopes of lulling her back into peaceful sleep. But there was something he needed to say before she slipped away, something she had to know. He did not know if she would remember his words, but knew that he needed to speak them with a smile on his lips and a laugh to his tone.

"And I with you, Jill Valentine. And I with you..."

**AN - Please Review :)**


	14. As My Heart Drops

**AN **- An advance warning: this chapter has a fluff content of about 95% ^_^. For all you Chris/Jill and even Leon/Claire fans. I've put them through enough, it's time for a little happiness ^_^. In terms of Leon and Claire, this story is more setting the stages for how they will be in the next story. You're going to see a lot more of them. Chapter title is from Chasing Pavements by Adele.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed since last chapter: _d.x.l, Ivilith, Ninja-Gnome, cjjs, Black Metalmark, Valentine Virus, xSummonerYunax, KT324_ and_ tek_. Next up is the epilogue and I'll give details for the next story with the next update. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**Blindside**

**_Chapter Thirteen_**_ - As My Heart Drops_

_'This ain't lust, I know this is love,  
But if I tell the world I'll never say enough,  
'Cause it was not said to you.'_

**_August 27, 2003. 10:17am. El Paso, Texas._**

Yet again, they kept him waiting. Leon tapped his foot impatiently, tugging at the collar of his shirt. The sling he had been forced to continue wearing was proving more of a hindrance than a help. For some reason, the doctors did not trust him enough to rest his shoulder without it. Neither, it appeared, did Claire, who refused to side with him on this one.

All things considered, he was lucky to escape with a painful shoulder and a few days of headaches. As far as he knew, Jill remained in hospital. It was more of a precaution at this point but her injuries had been severe. She would be walking with crutches for at least the next week, doped up on painkillers and antibiotics just to make surviving the day a little less unbearable. In comparison, his sling was an unparalleled comfort.

Eighteen minutes after the agreed meeting time, he was ushered inside the conference room, pleased to see that the panel consisted mostly of individuals he had previously had the opportunity to meet. He knew them all, knew of their leniency and understanding. It was Gregor who would prove the most challenging; the man was not known to be sympathetic.

"Please, take a seat," Gregor instructed. Leon considered refusing, and pointing out that he had been seated for the last half an hour, but knew that it would not help his case. "Leon Kennedy, I would like to introduce you to the new members of our panel; Mr. Alistair Forester of the WilPharma Corporation, Miss Phillipa Singh of Genesis Pharmaceuticals and Miss Excella Gionne of TriCell Pharmaceutical Company."

Leon nodded curtly to the three newcomers, hoping that they were as easily satisfied as the existing members. As far as he could tell, Forester was high up in WilPharma's chain of command, while Singh was several rungs below the CEO of Genesis; evidently they did not see this panel as one of importance. He doubted that the panel were drafted in for his sake; it was far more likely that they had flown in for the assessment of the BSAA, which he understood was to take place over the next few days. Gionne stood out a mile from the others, tapping her elongated fingernails against the desk, breaking only to check her wristwatch every few minutes.

"I trust you have read my report?" Leon asked, confident now in his position.

"We have," Gregor confirmed before referring to a manila folder he had opened only moments before. "Fortunately, every detail of your account is supported by CCTV footage as well as evidence gathered at the scene. Now, how much exactly do you remember of the events following your separation from the remainder of the team?"

His memory was hazy at best, though fragments remained. Gunfire, screams...the impact of his skull against the wall. Details were a little vague after that.

"Not much sir," he answered. "Agent Newburn checked me over, then she swung her arm and...that's the last I remember until I came to in the hospital."

"If you were as badly injured as you claim you were, why did you send Agents Valentine and Miller ahead?" It was Miss Gionne who spoke, a thick accent almost drowning out the scepticism in her voice.

"Well, ma'am," he replied, careful to be polite where she had not. "The priority of this mission was to apprehend the then unidentified Nicholai Ginovaef and procure enough hard evidence to support a prosecution case against Verisanda Technologies. My injuries were debilitating but not life-threatening. I advised Agent Valentine - to whom command of the team still fell - to proceed to the control room with Agent Miller and find a means of communicating with the base team to request extraction."

Excella hummed, and he could tell from her expression that she was nitpicking for no reason other than to amuse herself. Evidently she thought herself above the role she had been assigned.

"You were alone with Agent Newburn for quite some time," she pointed out with a smile. "You sent Agent Valentine into the hands of Mr. Ginovaef, ultimately resulting in-"

"Jill Valentine is my friend," he insisted angrily, temper suddenly out of his control. For her to even suggest such a thing... "I hope you are not insinuating that I bear some responsibility for what happened to her."

He felt in his heart that this was true, that he should have ordered her to remain with him. If only she had stayed by his side a little while, she would have been rescued before she found herself in danger. But it was his own grievance and he had sworn to her during an impromptu hospital visit that he would let it go and recognise that it was not his fault. And perhaps she had been right. After all, she was stubborn and maintained a definitive level of professionalism in all that she did; if he had asked her to stay she would have left regardless. If only that knowledge would assuage his guilt.

"No," Miss Gionne assured him through a wide, amused smirk. "Not at all."

"That's enough, Excella," Gregor warned. "If you would like to review the security tapes, they are currently available to the panel. I think you'll find that they corroborate Agent Kennedy's story. Now, Leon...I have summoned you before this panel to request a secondary report. I want you to focus on each individual member of your team, paying specific attention to skill and competency. As the only surviving members of your team are Miller and Valentine-"

"Wait a minute," Leon interrupted. Maybe it was the painkillers, or perhaps it was the irritation of keeping his arm bound to his body; somehow he was in a fighting mood today. "You doubt their competency? Miller recognised a traitor within the ranks when no other agent within the BSAA had so much as a suspicion, despite repeat assurances from a reliable source that the integrity of the unit had been compromised. And Valentine...how can you doubt her when she identified that the primary lock mechanism on the external laboratory door had been sabotaged, saving the lives of every member of our team? When she subdued a wanted criminal - a man _twice_ her size - despite suffering life-threatening injuries that had severely compromised her strength and skill?"

Gregor stared him down, silently waiting for his rant to wind to a close. Shaking, Leon inhaled deeply, a dull ache now present in his temples.

'Great, you've given yourself a damn headache,' he scolded himself. 'Claire is going to kill you; she told you to take it easy!'

"If you are quite finished," Gregor called, an uncharacteristic smile playing on his lips. "I assure you that doubt is far from our minds. If anything, every surviving agent proved their value tenfold tonight, especially Agent Valentine. The report is merely a record of activity. Despite the mishaps that presented themselves during the course of the mission, it has been deemed a success and it is extremely likely that the BSAA will be awarded full operational status. Your report will go on record as a reference point when assigning roles and titles."

'Oh.'

His injuries must have really done a number on him; he rarely lost his temper in an irrational manner. That was Chris's area of expertise, not his.

"Sorry, sir," he apologised. "These past few days...they haven't been easy. Oh, that reminds me; what is to happen to Nicholai Ginovaef?"

It was a question he should have known the answer to. After all, it was he who had analysed the security tapes, he who had catalogued every crime he could be charged with in relation to Jill alone. He saw it as a favour; the task should have fallen to Chris, but he knew it would have been too much for the older man to bear in his unusually fragile emotional state. As it transpired, it was a wise move. He had still not succeeded in dealing with the emotions the footage had stirred within himself. Never before had he witnessed an individual with so little concern for human life.

But then there was Jill... He had always known her to be strong, to be a fighter through and through, but he had not quite expected what he had witnessed. Her survival instinct far surpassed that which he had previously witnessed, extended even beyond what he thought was possible. She had saved herself from a situation no ordinary person would have survived. But that was the whole point; she was no ordinary woman. Leon now held an overwhelming amount of respect for the girl, and wished that somehow Chris could see her as he had.

'He's in love with her,' he reminded himself. 'He already knows...'

"Mr. Ginovaef has been moved to a secure facility," Gregor informed him. "Aside from the charges relating to the night of August twenty-second and the morning of August twenty-third, he has been charged with numerous offences related to bioterrorism. The likely outcome is execution."

It was no less than what he deserved, but Leon chose to keep this thought to himself. He did not believe in wishing death upon anyone, but he could think of no other recourse for what he had done, not just to Jill but to the world at large.

"As it transpires, he returned to Russia following the destruction of Raccoon City, where he is believed to have worked under Sergei Vladimir for some time," Gregor told him. "He is far more powerful than we initially assumed. Questioning could prove fruitful."

Leon only hoped that they did not wish for him to assist with said questioning.

"Your team accomplished a lot that night," Miss Singh told him with a smile. "You should all be proud of yourselves."

He agreed that a lot had been achieved that night, but at what cost? Four agents were dead, three more wounded. What degree of success had they achieved? The frown that fell upon his features did not go unnoticed by the others. But how could they understand? They sat behind their desks, planning and analysing; they had no concept of what it meant to be on the front line, to witness what most would only ever read of.

But he smiled and pretended to accept her compliment unconditionally.

It was just how things worked.

* * *

**_August 27, 2003. 12:42pm. El Paso, Texas._**

As she fumbled with the flimsy plastic key card, Jill realised that she perhaps should have thought this through. Two crutches were all that kept her upright, the heavy bag that hung from her shoulder threatening to pull her to the floor. Should that happen, she knew that she would never make it to her feet again. As it transpired, the painkillers only worked so long as she kept the pressure off her injured leg.

"Should have waited," she grumbled, finally succeeding in pulling the key card from her purse. Sliding the blue article into an open pocket of her bag, she manoeuvred the card towards the reader, only to stumble when she misjudged the distance.

The crutches prevented her from leaning far enough down, the bag determining the range in which she could shift her weight without collapsing in a heap on the floor.

She tried again, perfecting her aim until...

"Damn it!" she cried, watching the key card fall helplessly to the floor. "Nice one, Valentine, now you're screwed."

As luck would have it, a bellboy stood within earshot and quickly ran to her side, retrieving the key card and sliding it into the reader. A flash of green and a tell-tale click later and she was able to push the door to her hotel room open.

"Oh, thank you so much," she gushed appreciatively, accepting the card when the bellboy passed it back.

"No problem, ma'am," he smiled. "Do you need help with your bag?"

Once she had assured him that she was fine, she stepped into the safety of the room, dropping her bag next to the door. The air conditioning was working at full capacity, bringing a pleasant chill to her skin.

Carefully, she ambled towards the bed, positioning herself on the edge before finding a suitable position in which to store the crutches. All in all, she was impressed that she had made it so far on her own.

She had been released after first rounds that very morning, and though doctors had persuaded her to remain in the care of staff until someone could pick her up she chose to leave of her own accord. The time alone was soothing but she knew that her avoidance was selfish. Why else had she spent the entire morning finishing the book Chris had brought her in a café near the hospital? She was embarrassed to face him, and she knew it.

Though her memory of their reunion was hazy, she recalled words that brought a blush to her cheeks. He smelled nice? She could spend the rest of her life with him? There may have been truth to both sentiments, but she had carefully avoided revealing the extent of her investment in the relationship to anyone, let alone the man himself. Her reasons were stupid, but they were their own and she stubbornly stuck to them...until now.

Carefully, she moved her legs up onto the bed, finding it much easier to push herself as far back as was possible and then move backwards than to swing the limbs with complete disregard for her injury.

"Pain in the ass," she muttered. Because as time progressed, the various wounds she had suffered had become more of an annoyance than a pain. She didn't care about the pain; it was the restrictions they imposed upon her.

Speaking of restrictions...

She glanced at her wristwatch and heaved an inconvenienced sigh as she realised it was about time that she changed the dressing. It was an act she had not yet attempted herself, and she had barely been paying attention to the nurse's tutorial.

Pushing down on her sweatpants proved to be an unexpected hurdle. As she raised her body to slip the material beneath her, unwanted pressure was applied to her thighs, sending all too familiar shooting pains through her upper left leg. When she dropped herself quickly to the mattress when she succeeded in pushing the fabric down over her backside, the pain lingered and she swore vehemently, drawing her legs up as she shed the sweatpants.

"Fuck," she breathed through gritted teeth, lacking the courage to glance down at the bandaging. If the stitches had popped, it would mean a trip back to the hospital that she really did not want to take.

Luck, as it seemed, was on her side. The bandage remained unsoiled and, slowly, the pain ebbed away.

'You know you're supposed to wash your hands first, right?'

Jill groaned loudly, cursing her stupidity. For all her insistence that she was more than capable of looking after herself, it appeared that she in fact could not. There was antibacterial scrub in her bag, but sadly it was far from her reach...as were the fresh bandages and gauze. Nevertheless, she began to peel the old bandage from her skin, desperate to feel the cool air hit skin that had been bound for far too long. Each movement brought more pain, and she realised that she would be unable to redress it herself.

The scrape of a key card in the door caused her to jump, spewing curses into the silence when she inadvertently tugged on the bandage. She knew who it was before they stepped inside; there was only one other who possessed a key to this room.

Chris froze the moment he realised that he was not alone, eyes meeting in a moment Jill deemed to be nothing short of awkward.

"What the-" he spluttered, expression as frantic as his tone. "Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea how _worried_ I was?"

She muttered a sheepish apology, but he waved his hand casually, brushing everything aside.

"Never mind, I don't care where you were," he sighed. "It's...it's good to see you, well...at least showing signs of being on your feet again."

He chuckled quietly, holding his position close to the bed. He seemed afraid to approach her, nervous even to move close. Their contact over the last few days had been sporadic at best. He would stay by her bedside every minute of visiting hours, but the medication she had been given quite often made her drowsy and she would quite often be in no mood or state to carry on a conversation. For the most part, conversation had been light, and the topics they knew they should address remained on hold. On hold, it would seem, until a time like the present.

"Can you do me a favour?" she asked. "I can't...I can't redress my leg. There are clean bandages in my bag...can you help me?"

"Oh, sure," he obliged, retrieving the bandages before disappearing to cleanse his hands. A smile found its way to her lips, sudden happiness startling her with its purity.

'How are you smiling?' she wondered. It was the same happiness that had swept over her the moment he had taken her hand in his at the hospital, and whispered the promise that it would all be okay. At first, she had assumed that it was the drugs. Now, she was not so sure.

"Okay, I'm sorry if I hurt you, but you know I'm a little rough with my hands," he was sure to let her know before he climbed onto the bottom of the bed. Jill pulled her right leg to her chest, allowing him to shimmy close enough to remove what remained of the old dressing.

"You're not rough," she laughed. Her smile seemed contagious, an equally blissful grin forming on Chris' features.

'Do you think you have the guts to tell him all he needs to know?' she wondered. She knew that he felt misplaced blame for her ordeal; he would not have shed tears before her for a simple, passive reason. There was nothing that he could have done, nothing anyone could have done. What had happened, happened and it would have happened no matter what they did that night. She had made her peace with that and hoped that he could, too.

"Is this okay?" he asked, winding a clean bandage around her thigh. The pressure felt just right, his skin rough but his touch gentle.

"Perfect."

She watched as he worked, moving with careful diligence she would not previously have attributed to him. Just as he brought out elements of her personality she had been unaware of, it seemed as though another side of him shone through when he was with her.

"I feel like we should be dressed up or something," he laughed when he noticed that her gaze never once swerved from him.

"Honey, if you want to slip into a nurse's uniform, be my guest," she told him, amused at the image that was conjured in her mind. "Personally, I think those thighs would look quite sexy in white."

"Be careful what you wish for," he joked, smirk firmly in place.

Softly, his fingers brushed against her skin as he tied off the bandage. His touch was sedating, but she knew better than to expect that it would linger.

His fingers retreated sharply, eyes lingering on skin exposed beneath her T-shirt. As though by reflex, she glanced down. So much bruising patterned her skin that she often lost track of the design. The bruising on her hip was not immediately noticeable, and did not pain her as sweat pants were all she could tolerate to wear until her thigh adequately healed, but she had not considered how it would appear to others...especially Chris.

He quickly averted his gaze, expression settling into one of quiet, forlorn agony. She could almost see the emotion bubbling beneath his skin. It was unreasonable for her to wish that he did not take slights upon those close to him to heart; after all, she felt the exact same way when it came to him. But she wished that he would loosen up, would deal with his emotions rather than sit back as they washed over him and wallow in whatever remained.

"Come here," she requested, leaning forward as she held out her arms. He fell into them without protest, reciprocating with pressure that was almost painful.

Pain returned, but somehow she didn't mind. His embrace was desperate and she knew then the emotion that had gripped him since their separation.

"I was worried about you," she breathed.

Incredulously, he pulled back and laughed, fingertips trailing down her arms.

"_You_ were worried about _me_? I always pull through, you know that. Take a moment to worry about yourself every now and then!"

Smiling, she leaned back into the headboard, taking hold of his hand to pull him to her side. Out of consideration, he was sure to fall on her uninjured side, pulling her into his arms before she could protest.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I've been keelhauled," she admitted. "But I'll be fine. Just don't squeeze me too tight."

He did not reply, but she did not expect him to. Physical contact was how he always expressed his feelings and his arms spoke volumes. From beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt, she saw the remnants of a knife wound, red and puckered skin that was doubtlessly as painful as it was unsightly.

"Are _you_ okay?" she asked. He was never one to take it easy, even when advised that he must.

"I am now."

Chris inhaled deeply, shifting awkwardly beside her. Where she was content simply laying silently in his arms, it appeared that he was not.

"Are you happy, Jill?" he asked.

It had caught her off guard and she simply did not know what to say. She could feel that it was not her love that he doubted, for which she was grateful; she did not have the energy within her to argue with him. But the worry in his voice brought fear to the pit of her stomach. She had known that her previous childishness would have repercussions, despite how she had hoped that things would smooth over easily. How foolish of her.

But honestly, she did not know if she was happy or merely content. There were parts of her life still entrenched in shadow, parts that still ached terribly when addressed.

"I am with you," she told him. "And right now, I...I just want to lose myself to that; to focus on what I have rather than what...what I never will."

He frowned, despite her positive admittance. But she was not going to pretend that she had made peace with the fact that she would never be a mother. How could she? It was not fair, and it sure as hell was not okay. Truth be told, her heart quaked from the realisation. What Nicholai had put her through had simply forced her to put things in perspective.

"I'm far from okay," she admitted, showing honesty while she still could. "But the way I see it is I'm getting all the bad shit out of the way and the second half of my life is going to be something special."

'What if this is the second half of your life?'

It was a dark thought but a valid one nonetheless. She had escaped so many narrow situations; how long until her questionable luck ran out?

"I've never been this happy," she sighed as she pressed her lips to his neck. His groan reverberated through his throat as her lips travelled upwards, kissing the disappointingly smooth skin of his jaw and up to his cheek, moments before he turned to her.

"Honestly...neither have I," he whispered. His breath touched upon her lips, his covering them softly before she could think of a reply. But her affection did not come as easily as his and she pulled away before he could deepen the kiss.

There was so much that remained unsaid between them and though it terrified her to even consider speaking the words, she knew that it was now or never. She had already said too much, and her greatest fear was that he believed it was the painkillers talking. But how to address almost six years' worth of feelings in a moment?

"I..." she succeeded in muttering before her courage left her cold. "We...we haven't really talked about...about us. I guess...now's a better time than any."

'Coward.'

She sensed the apprehension that usually followed such a suggestion. What was it about men not wanting to share their feelings? As open as Chris was these days, he still required some level of coaxing.

"I thought 'I've never been happier' would have covered 'us'," he chuckled. And it had, but its scope was limited. It was enough to be happy in the moment, but they both knew that it was not enough to power a relationship indefinitely.

"What is there left to discuss?" he asked, serious this time. "Previous partners? Sexual history? Because I don't think that's a conversation you want to get into."

This time it was Jill's turn to frown.

"I'll just look at the R.P.D. employment records to find yours," she mocked.

"That's not funny," he claimed, though laughter lingered on his voice.

"I don't care about all that," she sighed. "It's all in the past and trust me, mine is colourful in its own right. I-"

"Oh, now I'm intrigued," he interrupted.

"Chris!" Jill warned. "I'm being serious."

The silence that fell was awkward. She should have known that he would try to deflect the topic somehow. However, she was determined to see this through, even if it was she who did all the talking.

"Alright," he sighed. "You first. Did you mean what you said in the hospital?"

And her evasion had come full-circle. Swallowing her pride, she prepared her answer, though every fibre of her being screamed at her to keep silent.

"Yes," she admitted. "Even the, uh...smell thing. Though I'd prefer it if you forgot all about that."

Chris laughed, though even this could not disrupt his brilliant smile. Without even asking the question, she had found the answer to all that she wished to know; he returned it all, every feeling and sentiment, from the romantic to the downright absurd.

"Then why won't you live with me?" he asked, almost apologetically. But she had promised herself that there would be no arguments, despite the turn events may take.

'You promised yourself you would be honest, no matter what, remember?'

Chris sensed her hesitation and sighed, knowing that she could often be as stubborn as a rock.

"Because I'm scared," she spoke quietly, swallowing her nerves. "You have to know that just admitting all this to you is...it's hard."

It was a redundant statement; he knew better than anyone. But her fear stemmed from a different core to his, it took on a different form. He could not possibly know the nature of her feelings.

"Every time I let someone in, I end up getting hurt," she revealed as tears threatened to fall. "This isn't about what happened in Raccoon, it's just...me. We all have flaws and this...this is one of many."

The release was sweet, but she began dreading his response the moments the words left her mouth. There were many ways he could take this news, and most of them were not good. She had always been forced to fight for her luck; freedom and happiness did not come easily to her. But rather than place uncomfortable distance between them, Chris pressed his lips to her forehead, concern engraved deep in his eyes.

"You don't have to be scared," he assured her. "If anyone hurt you, you know I'd kick their ass...even if that ass is mine."

Smiling, she rested her head on his shoulder, allowing his warmth to seep into her skin.

"I just need some time," she hummed. "I think we both do. But hey, I'm going to need a live-in carer until I'm all healed. I tried peeling the plastic from a sandwich carton earlier...it didn't go well."

"Alright," he laughed, shoulders shaking freely. "I was planning on persuading you, anyway. I'll take good care of you."

She knew that he spoke the truth. But she was in no hurry; the BSAA had scheduled a memorial service for the fallen agents in two days' time. The least she could do was pay her respects to Abramowitz and to Cavanaugh...and to Hillary. In recent times she had begun to wonder why she allowed herself to make friends. She could not even console herself with the knowledge that Hillary's death had been quick and painless. She could not think of a more horrific death. Jones was a promising agent and a warm person - she did not deserve her fate. None of them did.

Waves of fatigue washed over her, aches and pains dulling a little beneath the promise of temporary relief. Though she had slept through the majority of her hospital stay, she continued to crave peaceful rest. Chris seemed to sense this and gently slid her down onto the mattress, disrupting the arm she had wound possessively around his waist. For some reason, she could not let go.

"Thank you," she whispered, knowing that her previous position would have only further aggravated her injuries. Her eye felt roughly the size and shape of a pear and bruising on her torso made sure that every light touch upon her skin hurt like holy hell, but somehow the arm that he placed around her soothed all that it touched. She knew that it was the heat the appendage exuded but found that it was nice to pretend that it was something more.

"I guess we're in it for the long haul, huh?" she mused.

His eyes held hers in a manner she found to be terribly haunting. Something lingered beyond, slipping slowly past his resolve. Whatever fear held him, she knew well, and she found herself hoping that he would simply let go.

"While we're being honest," he whispered, eyelids suddenly hiding all she had seen. "I know we promised each other that work would always come first, no matter what." His eyes opened again, this time confused and a little lost, brimming with unfamiliar emotion. "But damn it, Jill...I want to marry you one day. I don't care what you think of that. It's just...how I feel."

Something caught in her chest, twisting and tugging beyond the boundaries of all feeling. Her heart beat against its own rhythm, her lungs suddenly amnesic. She had never been invited as a date to a wedding, let alone be promised the starring role. And with Chris Redfield? _Chris Redfield?_ Five years ago she would have laughed off the suggestion that they would ever date, let alone _marry_.

It should have been a monumental decision, one that she would mull over for weeks. She had never thought of herself as the marrying type, but it was something she had always seen in her future. But here it was, laid out in front of her...and all she could do was smile. No, it was not even a smile; it was a grin, one that stretched from ear to ear. She had never been so sure of anything in her life...she _wanted_ this.

"Are you proposing?" she asked, teasing him slightly.

"No," he frowned, though his expression softened at the sight of her smile. "I'm proposing to propose."

She leaned forward, ignoring the protests of many screaming pain receptors to kiss him deeply. It was she who wiggled her body close to his, she who first introduced tongue to the kiss. He may not have proposed, but her heart had reacted in the same way. His hands were wary as they held her, but she could feel his control slowly slipping.

"That sounds good," she whispered before their lips had even parted.

His smile matched hers, eyes glistening with renewed hope.

"Wait a minute," he laughed. "You're fine with the idea of marriage but you won't move in with me?"

"Don't spoil a good moment," she warned him amicably.

Though they shared laughter, she did not feel it in her heart. Suddenly solemn and silent, she shuffled closer still to him.

"Sleep," he urged. "I'm not going anywhere."

Though sleep was her body's intention, the calm had an unwanted effect on her. It was so easy to be lost to one's own thoughts when little else existed. There was nothing to fear in his arms, she knew that, but she had stepped uncomfortably close to danger and could not seem to shake its lingering scent. It terrified her how close she had come to death, and to a fate she considered far worse.

"I'm not afraid to die," she whispered suddenly, feeling the need to express an unsettling realisation.

"Don't say that," he begged. It was not a dismissal of her statement; it was the ushering away of an idea that frightened him to the core.

"I'm not," she insisted. "I realised that when...well, when I was with him."

His eyes locked with hers when they opened, and she could tell simply by the way he held his breath that he was not happy.

"Jill, you fought so hard," he told her. "You rescued yourself; you're putting me out of a job! How can you say-"

"It's not like that!" How could she explain? She still did not fully understand it herself. "There was no skill in what I did...If you trap a frightened dog he will fight to the death for his life. That's all it was; pure adrenaline and human nature. But, Chris...I was bleeding out, and it was obvious that he was not going to let me go. I was weak, and I didn't think...I thought I was going to die in that room. But I wasn't afraid. I made my peace long ago. I'm not afraid to die, I just...don't want to."

Chris did not say a word, but she felt that he understood. Death was a simple fact of life for them, and fearing it only made the job more difficult. Though she approached each mission knowing that the chances of survival were often not as good as one would hope, she had never once shouldered her firearm hoping that the odds would tip against her this time. If death looked her in the eye, she wanted to go on her own terms and she sure as hell did not want to beg for her life. If it happened, it happened, but that did not mean that she welcomed it with open arms.

Jill doubted that she was as strong as the others believed her to be; she simply had a more realistic view of the world.

"I don't ever want to come so close to losing you again," Chris pleaded.

How could she promise him that he would not? In their line of work the worst could, and often did, happen.

'It didn't happen that night,' she reminded herself. Because no matter how bad things were, they could have been far worse. She had known that Nicholai was heartless, but had never conceived that he was capable of such things. The way he had gunned down Tessa in cold blood...

Chris held her close as she shivered, but the bubble of emotion that had formed in her throat continued to rise. Though it was her lover's body that held her, all she could feel were the hands that had torn her skin, delving into remaining wounds, touching her as only Chris did these days...

Bile rose in her throat, memories flooding her senses. Though she had tried to push them aside, she knew that her short spree in captivity would linger. She had almost died that night, had almost...

The tears fell silently at first, before the bubble burst and quiet whimpers turned to heaving sobs. The arms were her lover's again and he held her closer, soothing her gently as he allowed her to simply cry out her emotion. That was one of the many things she loved about Chris; he knew when she needed to be consoled, and when she just needed to be held. Most men believed that they were one and the same, that anything could be solved by a brief hug, accompanying pat on the back and the reassurance of "Cheer up, it will all be okay". Because Chris knew that this wasn't always the case; some things were never okay.

He was quiet still when her tears dried and her body relaxed, languished. And he still held her as her consciousness waned, her heart and mind content in his company.

* * *

**_August 27, 2003. 12:42pm. El Paso, Texas._**

It was concern that brought him to her side, he told himself; friendly concern and nothing more. Claire had been taking recent events much harder than the others, weighed down by the sizeable report she had only just completed for her employers. Sleepless nights and all the caffeine a body can take had worn her down until she could barely face the sunlight anymore.

"It's me," Leon spoke after rapping on her hotel room door. There was no guarantee that she was even here. She had been so worried about Chris and Jill that most of her spare time was spent procuring exasperated assurances that they were just fine from her weary brother. Reports of his own had kept him busy, but he knew that he could spare time for her.

'And why would that be? You're an idiot, Kennedy.'

"Quelle surprise," was the greeting Claire offered, along with a sarcastic roll of the eyes. "Come in."

Her suitcase was open on the bed when he stepped inside, clothing spread over the sheets. For a moment, he considered bringing up the subject of her impending departure, but knew that it would only turn to his.

"I was going to visit Jill today, but I rang the hospital in advance and they said she was released this morning," she muttered, fishing for conversation. "I suppose that's good news, right?"

Leon nodded solemnly. So far she had been shielded from the aftermath of the mission, and there was truly no need to involve her in the BSAA's matters.

"Mike returned home," she continued. "Donny is still under observation but he's out of the woods. I...haven't heard about the others."

"They're fine," he assured her, reaching for an arm to still her frantic stuffing of crumpled clothing into her suitcase. "It's all over now and...well, I like to think that they have learned from their mistakes. They were understaffed, underfinanced and unprepared. With the budget they are being allocated, there won't be any room for screw-ups."

But he could tell that he had missed the mark by a mile. Did she still doubt her role with Terra Save? He could not help but feel completely and utterly lost. What more could he say to her? If Chris had failed to calm her spirit then he stood less than a snowball's chance.

"I've been...I've been thinking," she told him. Her eyes danced away from his, arm pulled free as she went about folding the previously-flung clothes. "About...joining the BSAA."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Claire chuckled, paying great attention to the edges of a cotton shirt that she folded between her finges.

"That's what Chris said."

For once, Leon agreed with him. He was young when he had been caught up in the storm that was Umbrella, but he had chosen his path and accepted that sooner or later it would turn violent. Claire, on the other hand...she was only nineteen at the time, ripped from her peaceful student life and deposited smack bang in the middle of a nightmare not even he could have dreamt. She was feisty and there was no denying her strength, but she did not have the heart of a soldier like her brother. She would carry that night in Raccoon around with her for the rest of her life.

"I'm sick and tired of feeling so powerless," she choked, teardrops rolling down flushed cheeks. "It seems you can't make a difference in this world through peaceful protests and motivational speeches."

"Martin Luther King did," Leon pointed out. It was a ridiculous comparison to make, but he knew that he should not have needed to. "And I'm sure Ghandi would have something to say about that."

Claire laughed, which Leon assumed was part of his initial plan.

"I'm...I'm worried, Leon," she sniffled. "I'm worried about them."

It was then that he reached for her, pulling her into an embrace he was not entirely sure she was comfortable with. But she accepted it nonetheless.

"And what would you do if you joined the BSAA?" he asked. "You'd still be apart from them. Even if you found yourself in a combat situation with Chris, what would you do? Psychologically, you have the advantage on him, but when it comes to brute strength... Trust me; he almost lifted me clear off the ground with one hand."

Soft laughter was muffled by the fabric of his shirt, long seconds passing before she realised just what he had said.

"Wait...what?"

"Oh," Leon muttered awkwardly. "It's nothing, he...lines got crossed and he-"

"Oh God," she groaned, pressing her forehead to his chest so that her face was carefully hidden. "Jill, right? I swear, she brings out the best in him but the _ass_ still shines through."

He could remember the argument clearly. Just what had given him the impression that there was something even remotely romantic going on between him and Jill? Perhaps it was true what they said... Jill always teased him about his flirtatious nature, letting him know that she didn't mind it but if Chris caught him flirting with either her or his sister then there would be hell to pay. But how could he alter what was apparently so deeply ingrained in his nature that he did not notice it himself?

More importantly, how did he distinguish this involuntary flirting from the real thing? Was this the reason why his relationships were always doomed from the start?

"I'm sorry," Claire sighed as she pulled back again. "But hey...no tears."

Leon smiled down at her, wiping the remains from her skin. Even with bloodshot eyes, she was still beautiful to him. Those crystal blue eyes, that porcelain skin. Every inch of her was exotic to him, and it took every ounce of strength to remain true to his promise and not act upon lust.

"I don't think I'm coping as well as the others," she sighed. "I'm not built for this. Do you know that after mom and dad died, it was Chris who took care of me? I mean, our aunt and uncle fed and clothed us, but he...he was there for me. They didn't understand, and neither did he but he tried. Never cried a tear of his own...well, not that he would admit. Sometimes I wish I could be more like him."

"If you could only see through my eyes, you would know how similar you are," he laughed. "Claire, life has taken its toll on us all; we just deal with it in different ways."

He could not tell her that he would not erase the night they met. Because despite all of the fear and the suffering, it had been just that - the night they had met. He would take Umbrella and a thousand companies like them if it meant spending an occasional moment with her.

'That isn't lust, Leon.'

Of course it was. She was beautiful, and he knew it. Everything else were merely attachments, occasionally catching on moments as they flew by.

But she felt so fragile in his arms, and though every thought attended to her, not one considered speculations of her ability between the sheets. Even as he considered this, he knew it was a cruel thought to have in such a moment.

'You're in lo-ove,' teased a sing-song voice in his head. But he wasn't. He couldn't be!

Her left hand moved, bracing herself against his shoulder as she straightened her body, his arms falling to her waist. Inquisitive eyes found his, lips parting briefly before sealing as considered speech was deemed inappropriate.

"I guess it...helps having someone to share..." he sighed, but the words became lost on his tongue. Her expression turned to one of curiosity, brow furrowing in a manner he scolded himself for finding insanely cute. But then it relaxed, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

'This is the part you're good at,' the voice snickered. 'Go on...you'll see.'

It happened so quickly that for a moment he did not believe that it had. Her lips were undoubtedly against his, but he had not moved an inch. He sensed her pull back in shock, but pulled her to him, brushing his lips over hers as though to coax them back. A gasp turned into a sigh and she sank into him, every inch of his skin burning where it made contact with hers. All thought melted from his mind, every sensation that was not elicited by her dulled to a level far below perception. And somewhere, deep within the pit of his stomach, painful knots unravelled, releasing waves of bliss that swept through him, urging him to never let her fall from his arms.

But beneath all that,_ it_ pushed its way to the surface, breaking through the walls surrounding his heart as a reptile from an egg. It breathed in this new atmosphere, decided that it liked the taste upon the air, and dug its claws into the newly exposed muscle of the organ that had failed him so far. He knew then that it would never relinquish its grip, that it was with him until the day he died, because he knew that it would not. He did not know its name but his psyche chuckled and whispered quietly in a told-you-so manner one single word.

'Love.'

**AN - Please review :)**


	15. Epilogue

**Blindside**

**_Epilogue_**

_'I may not have gone where I intended to go,  
but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.'  
~Douglas Adams~_

**_August 31, 12:45pm. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania._**

Home sweet home. Somehow Claire did not see it. It was not a home by choice, merely the more convenient living arrangement available to her in her current line of employment.

Her suitcase was once again open, though she was packing only for a few days this time. Following the downfall of Umbrella, they had all went their separate ways but most had striven to remain close to one another. Leon had been almost forcibly relocated to Washington D.C., and Chris and Jill had elected to rent apartments in Arlington, close to the proposed site of the BSAA headquarters while they awaited its activation. The Burtons had followed suit, buying a house in the suburbs while Rebecca secured a position in the pathology department of a nearby hospital. She, on the other hand, had been bound to Philadelphia the moment she decided to join the ranks of Terra Save.

She hoped that one day Terra Save would grow to a size that enabled her to choose which town and which state she was to reside in. So many days were spent alone, away from her friends and family. She simply had no time to visit, despite their relative closeness. Barry's monthly barbecues were the only opportunity she had to spend time with Chris these days and so she, like the others, would drop everything she could to attend.

The doorbell to her small apartment rang and with curiosity and purpose she remotely opened the door, not caring who it was. Nobody listened to her excuses; if they could see how busy she was perhaps they would take their leave. For good measure, she opened her apartment door a crack, waiting until she could hear footsteps down the hallway before she returned to her bedroom.

She slid her flight tickets into an outside pocket of her suitcase, knowing that she would otherwise forget them. She needed this, and did not want her stupidity to hold her back.

"It's not exactly safe, leaving your front door open for anyone to walk through."

The jeans that she held fell from her hands as she turned in shock. Whether it was the sudden presence that surprised her or the voice, she did not know. It was likely that it was both.

"L-Leon?" she stuttered. "What are you doing here?"

She had not seen him since their departure from Texas and a moment that...well, a moment she had dreamed of every night since. She had not known why she had kissed him, or even why he had reciprocated. But no matter how she tried to find some scrap of regret, she could not.

"I've been handed another assignment," he told her, his confidence at a normal level, smile friendly and nothing more. "I have to go away and I don't know when I'll be back. It could be months. I just...wanted to say goodbye before I left."

Four days without a single word and now he shows up on her doorstep, claiming that he 'just wanted to say goodbye'? Leon rented an apartment in Washington D.C., which was more than a short drive away.

"Goodbye," she offered, shrugging her suspicions away. "I guess...I'll see you soon?"

His smile faded, and suddenly his posture was awkward; a far cry from his usual confidence.

_Lips parted, breath held as reality slowly returned to the moment. What had she done? What had _they_ done?_

_She opened her mouth but words did not flow. No regret fell into the emptiness that had consumed her as of late. In fact, what fell in its place was welcome; warm and pleasant, forcing a smile her lips could not seem to form._

_"I...I should go," he whispered, nose millimetres from hers._

Those were the only words they had exchanged on the matter. Part of her wished that the situation would never be addressed, but her heart knew where it stood now. She loved him, plain and simple. What she had believed to be an unattainable emotion had instead taken possession of her.

And there was not a damn thing she could do about it.

"Claire, that kiss..." he began, but she could not bring herself to look at him.

"Was nothing," she realised. "I was upset, and you're...you."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he countered, affronted. She immediately regretted her words, hurting him without intent.

But they were truthful; he was so much like her brother in the days before he had met Jill, and she knew exactly how Chris worked. A kiss carried the same meaning as a casual greeting.

'But Chris changed,' she reminded herself. 'Maybe Leon has too.'

Her mind could not wrap around this hypothesis. It was love that had changed Chris, and a woman who meant everything to him. Leon was not in love with her and she did not know what she was to him anymore.

"It was just a kiss," she sighed, staving off laughter. "And a damn good one at that."

Leon hummed, apparently flattered by her evaluation. But he made no move to defend himself, to insist that it was anything more than a desperate moment.

"If it was up to you...would you want it to be anything more?" he asked.

Did she? She knew now where her heart lay, but realism beat its message into her skull. So what if she wanted a relationship with him? So what if she wished that his lips would touch none other than hers? Their future was not hers to decide, and she sure as hell did not have time for a relationship.

"Would you?"

He had not expected her to turn the question back on him, and fell stubbornly silent. But she could sense his answer, and knew that it was the same as hers; what did it matter what they wanted? They could kiss again, but that was all it would be. She had already fallen, but there was still time before she fell too deep.

"It's not about what we want," he sighed. "It's about what we can't have. I really like you, Claire, but...this just isn't fair."

To her surprise, not a single tear was shed. Instead, she smiled bitterly in relief.

"It never is," she laughed. "But hey, at least we're still friends. That's something, right?"

"Of course."

When they met for an embrace, it was a friendly one, symbolic of the path they had been treading and would continue to tread until life was a little simpler.

The alarm on her cell beeped furiously and she reached into her pocket, shutting it off without glancing at the screen. The time had come for her to leave, and she knew that Leon must too.

"I wish I could come with you," he chortled. "Tell everyone I said hi."

She assured him that she would as she zipped her suitcase. No matter how packed her schedule became, things were always much worse for him. At least she was able to attend a brief reunion every month. Leon was lucky if he made it to two a year. It was with a heavy heart that she realised this would likely be the case for Chris and Jill soon. Who knew where the BSAA would take them? Wherever it was, she knew that it would be away from her.

"Can I drive you to the airport?" he asked. Drive? She knew for a fact that he would have a driver, and would not even have the need to open the door for her.

"I'll sit in the back of your transport, sure," she laughed. "Just promise to keep in touch, okay?"

* * *

**_August 31, 7:45pm. Arlington, Virginia._**

There were many stars out that night, and not a single cloud to obscure them. While the air had cooled considerably as the sun set, there was still a noticeably comfortable warmth on the breeze. Chilled beer, freshly-cooked burgers; it was the perfect end to a difficult month.

Chris deposited another burger onto his paper plate, smiling at Barry as he tended to the barbecue. It was pointless to offer help; he always refused and every mind in attendance knew what happened the last time Chris had been left with a live barbecue. The Burtons appreciated assistance, but appreciated their deck furniture much more.

"It's always strange when you see normal after bloodshed," Carlos commented, startling him a little. "Strange but appreciated."

He held out a cold bottle of beer, condensation dripping down the sides of the glass bottle.

"Can't," Chris sighed, refusing politely. "Jill's still on antibiotics. I know it bugs her when she can't drink with her friends so I'm abstaining too."

Carlos chuckled but shrugged indifferently and raised the bottle to his own lips.

"That's good of you," he told him. "Can't say I'd have done the same."

Ever since that night, something had been different between them, something was there that had not been present before. It was not friendship, not by a long shot, perhaps not even respect, but...something. Appreciation, at the very least. Pride was a difficult thing to overcome, but at the very least Chris had learnt to make a deal with his. Suddenly it was okay for the former mercenary to utter Jill's name, to even acknowledge that he knew her.

He owed the man more than he could ever express for what he did, even if all it had transpired to be was give his fraught and desperate mind a little hope. As he had come to realise, it did not matter what his feelings were for Jill; Carlos was not the man she loved.

"How is she doing?" asked Carlos. "I would have called, but I didn't think..."

"She's your friend," Chris pointed out with a smile. "You don't have to be afraid to call. She's doing fine; still a little sore, but she's going to be okay."

Across the garden, Jill sat alone on a bench by the old apple tree. Its meaning did not go amiss, but he managed to suppress his smirk. He did not want the others throwing questions his way. That kiss may not have been their first, but it had signalled the beginning of a relationship he knew would run deeper than any he had experienced. And he had been right. At times he did not understand it and, admittedly, it scared him a little. But he would not trade a single moment with her for all the peace in the world. He had been unsure of her feelings, insecure in the belief that it was he who was in neck-deep, but now he knew better. They still had a lot to learn, but they would plough through each lesson together and graduate hand in hand, knowing that what they had was the real deal.

'Assuming you don't lose her,' he remembered. 'That was one hell of a close call.'

But he would not lose her. He was her partner now - official in every capacity - and they would have to drag him kicking and screaming into the bowels of hell before he would allow anything to happen to her.

"Listen," he found himself saying as his thoughts drifted and his mind wandered. "I never said thank you for what you did. Not...not just for going after her, but for- I guess I'm trying to say thank you, for being there for me too. I was so angry when they pulled her out...I dread to think what I would have done if you had not been there."

Carlos was silent, perhaps digesting an awkward message of thanks from a man he was sure would have rather scratched out his own eyes than do such a thing. But his appreciation was heartfelt.

"It was nothing," he shrugged. "I'm glad Nicholai's behind bars, that's all. I hope the bastard rots there."

His hope was kind compared to the thoughts Chris afforded the man. Jill kept silent about her nightmares, but there had been a few. She may have blamed her tossing and turning on the medication, but he knew better. He had experienced a fair share of his own, always losing her in those final moments. It was a dark world, one where Nicholai's words had been gospel and there was never much of her to reclaim.

Despite the severity of the situation, he had to admit that the time she had spent as his housemate was perhaps the happiest he had felt since their kiss beneath the apple tree. He wondered if it had something to do with her agreement with his reckless suggestion of marriage. In all honesty, he had expected her to shoot him down, to claim that it was too early...but she had agreed, had smiled so brilliantly that he fought with the rising urge to ask her then and there.

"I still love her, you know."

The admission had been so quiet yet so confident, and Chris could feel his skin flush with underlying rage. He was sure that it had been an innocent declaration, perhaps a test to determine how it sounded aloud without the echo that thoughts often carried.

"And before you punch me - which I can tell from your expression you're about three seconds away from doing - hear me out," Carlos coughed.

The fire could not be calmed, but Chris succeeded in suppressing it for a while, counting to ten in his mind's eye.

"It's my own damn fault," Carlos explained. "After Raccoon, I thought she would give up on you after so long without a word. It was a crush at first, but the closer I got to her, the harder I fell. It didn't take me long to realise that what she felt for you was a hell of a lot more than the silly crush I had first thought it to be. But by then, it was too late. I'd let her open up to me, and instead of letting me in, it was I who let _her _in. Even now, when I see how happy she is with you- I intend to continue being her friend, and while I realise that you and I probably will never be, I at least want things to be amicable between us. I just wanted you to know the truth. I don't intend to act upon it or in any way come between you...I just thought you should know."

Chris recognised that he appreciated his honesty, but primal instincts flared, and the inner predator thought purely in terms of black and white. But Carlos had been honest, and that was more than he had ever given him. All he had offered was blind hatred with no explanation, and a snap-judgement that he now knew missed the mark by miles.

"It took a lot of guts to say that," he acknowledged, though failed to keep a tone of warning from his voice. "I appreciate it."

A sigh signalled his companion's relief. Perhaps his reputation _was_ overstated; his aggressiveness was more threat than action. It did not matter, he continued to repeat over and over in his mind. He could try whatever the hell he wanted; she did not love him.

"So," Chris coughed, desperate for a new subject. "I heard you applied for the BSAA?"

Carlos smiled, evidently not expecting such a question.

"Yes," he admitted. "South American branch; I'm moving home for a while. Well, Bogotá. I can't be a vagrant all my life, can I?"

It was a good career choice, Chris acknowledged. He was brave and despite being rather liberal with his affection, he had heart and was not afraid to show it. South America was an area of great concern in the field of bioterrorism; the vast majority of uncovered smuggling rings had roots south of the border. Whatever role Carlos took on, he had his work cut out for him.

"It's far from over," Chris sighed. "Five years on and we're still neck-deep in their shit. It makes you wonder if there's any end to it."

"If you could go back, would you find another job?"

He blinked, unsure of his meaning. Another job? He was perfectly happy where he was.

"What do you mean?" he asked. It was a strange question to come from a man who had drifted in the realm of the unemployed since Umbrella's trial.

"If you know what was to come, would you decide against joining S.T.A.R.S.?" Carlos clarified.

Would he? It was a difficult question to answer. When he considered the thirty long years of his life, he rarely thought of those before his relocation to Raccoon City. Those two years had stretched far beyond the twenty-three that had preceded them, and though they felt like a different lifetime now, they carried weight that the last five years had not. He had grown incredibly close to his teammates, had been happier than he had ever been. Did the events that brought an explosive end to those days change his life for the worse? Yes, they had. But that did not change how he felt, did not erase memories he knew he would treasure forever. He would rather have struggled through the past five years of hardship than never have known the S.T.A.R.S. team. He would not trade those two short years for anything.

"No," he sighed. "Some things are worth a short walk in hell."

'If it weren't for S.T.A.R.S., you never would have met Jill,' he knew. 'Maybe mom was right, maybe everything happens for a reason?'

"You see?" Carlos smirked. "Sometimes, the hardest days turn out to be the best of our lives. Nothing in this world that is worth having comes free, remember that."

* * *

Jill regretted wearing the spaghetti strap dress as the night progressed and the wind brought with it an uncomfortable chill.

'Like you had any choice in the matter,' she fumed inwardly. 'Damn jeans are still too tight.'

While the wound was no longer painful in itself, the skin remained tender and the pressure of fabric provided more discomfort than she was willing to tolerate. She was still bound to crutches for at least the next few days, and this too became somewhat of an inconvenience. She could walk perfectly fine without them, but the damn doctor continued to insist that she wait at least the initial ten day period to ensure that she did not aggravate healing tissue. Over the past week, she had become convinced that there was simply too much fuss caused over her 'condition'. It had taken every scrap of energy within her to hammer Chris into submission over the fact that he did not need to sleep elsewhere. Though she found his concern heart-warming, his belief that she was little more than a porcelain doll had begun to irritate.

She continued her quiet habit of observation, eyes trained on the Redfield siblings as they conversed, then following Kathy Burton to her husband's side. Sometimes she envied the Burtons, jealous of the life they now shared, free from threat and conflict. The young girls were growing up quickly, and so Barry sought to make the most of his time with them before they inevitably departed to college and the world beyond. Even Rebecca had not quite found the calm she had been hoping for. Her accelerated academic career had reached a head when she enrolled in a medical school shortly before the Umbrella trial and found that she was ahead of the rest of her class; several years ahead, actually. Her internship had been cut short, the board deciding that the years she spent working alongside qualified physicians in caring for injured members of the underground anti-Umbrella movement and the self-guided study she had indulged in over the years brought her to a level where qualifying exams would be a breeze. True to their expectations, she passed with flying colours and was soon accepted onto a residency program, which ate away most of her free time.

The chill brought goose bumps to her skin and with great resignation she realised that she needed to relocate. With trembling arms, she pushed herself to her feet, almost forgetting the crutches she would much rather do without. Nobody bothered her as she traversed the uneven terrain of the Burtons' back garden, almost tripping over her own feet as she lifted herself up the steps and into the house. After so long suspending her weight between the crutches, it appeared that she had forgotten how to walk.

The air inside was far more pleasant, and doubtlessly the sofa offered greater comfort than a hard wooden bench. While her bruises were healing, many were still tender. But she did not make it to the sofa. Though she respected privacy, especially that of her friends, there was a curious side to her personality that drew her to the frames on the fireplace that had been absent on her previous visit.

Laughter was suppressed when she laid eyes upon the obligatory wedding photograph. She had never been able to picture a beardless Barry, let alone her old friend sporting a crew cut. Evidently the wedding took place during his Air Force days; she knew a military wedding when she saw one. There was another photograph from his military days, and another from his time as a S.W.A.T. officer. But it was not these photographs that pulled her interest to the display, was not even the admittedly adorable picture of his two young daughters from the years in Raccoon City. It was the photograph of their old team that stirred something within her, so much so that she reached for the mahogany frame and brought the scene closer to her eyes.

It had been taken shortly before Rebecca's hiring, not long after she had decided to cut the hair she had allowed to grow after her departure from the Delta Force training program. Chris had complimented her numerous times on the change of style, and in moments they spent alone his fingers would often wander to her shorter locks and play with fallen strands. It had all seemed innocent at the time, but now she wondered how she had not recognised his flirting. Had it been because it was a regular occurrence? He had flirted since the day they had become friends, and she had flirted right back; it was all harmless fun, it never meant anything. But somehow she had failed to recognise the transition between play and genuine affection. Looking back, she had acted in a similar manner, suddenly falling asleep on his shoulder as opposed to curled up at the end of his sofa on the S.T.A.R.S.'s traditional pizza and beer nights.

'And who'd have thought we'd end up here?'

It was not without pain that she gazed upon the faces of her friends. Five years later, she still missed them terribly. It was not a loss that she could replace or even attach reason to. For the most part, Umbrella had paid for their role in their deaths, but it was not Umbrella who was ultimately responsible. It was Wesker who had lured them to the mansion, Wesker who had stood by as they were brutally slaughtered. Jill knew that he was the key to everything they sought. Without his demise, the memories of their friends could never truly be laid to rest.

Sometimes it helped to have something to fight for, something to reason with.

"It's hard to believe it's been five years."

The frame almost slipped from her fingers when he spoke.

"Holy fuck!" she gasped, ignorant as a single crutch clattered to the floor. "You stupid bastard, don't _do_ that!"

All Chris could do was chuckle as he plucked the photograph from her grasp.

"Man, I wish I still looked that young," he sighed. "I have to spend an extra five minutes on the treadmill just to keep in shape these days."

Jill laughed and pushed him teasingly.

"If you lay off the fast food you wouldn't have to," she pointed out. But she knew what he meant.

He had not changed to her eyes, but the man in the photograph was different in so many ways. His smile was genuine, his skin fresh, body toned from exercise and not action. The face in the photograph was that of a boy; he who stood at her side was a man. Even in matters of the mind, he was not the same person he had been back then.

"Dwelling on the past isn't good," he frowned as he set the frame back onto the fireplace. "You can't change it; it's better if you learn from it."

And he was right. She was stronger now in many ways, and there was nothing she would do differently if she could take her time over again. You live and you learn.

"You know you shouldn't be on that leg," he complained. Before she could protest and stand her ground, his hands were at her waist and he had pulled her towards the sofa, setting her onto his lap as he dropped down onto the cushions. The one remaining crutch slid from her grasp and joined the other on the plush carpet.

"Will you knock it off!" she scolded, though her point was somewhat challenged by the manner with which she swung her legs over his and fell comfortably into his body, hers supported only by the arm of the sofa at the small of her back and Chris' right arm, attentive in its hold.

The movement hitched up the fabric of her dress, revealing the edge of a clean white bandage, loosely tied against bruised skin. The wound had begun to heal, but again the doctor had insisted that she continued to dress it at least until her check up.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked as she adjusted her clothing.

She did not need to ask the origin of his question.

"I'm fine," she assured him with a smile. "It was getting a little cold outside. What's your excuse?"

"No excuse," he laughed. "I was just worried."

He worried a lot these days. They both did. But Jill preferred to look on the bright side of things. Though she had no control over her dreams, she spent every second of her waking hours twisting her experience into a more beneficial form, drawing from the terror strength that had slowly built over the years. It very well could have destroyed her, and perhaps six years ago it would have, but in the grand scheme of things it was trivial, her mind now adapted to far more terrifying horrors.

"We still have another fortnight off," she reminded him, slipping her fingers into his thick brown hair. "Two weeks before we're called in for duty. I thought that maybe we could...go somewhere. The journey to Texas wasn't exactly a pleasant one."

She could see the idea settling behind his eyes, his mind playing with it, testing its validity. The smile appeared at his eyes before it spread to his lips, and the fingers of his left hand began to play with the hem of her dress.

"Sure," he agreed, serenity falling into his eyes. "I'd like that. How about New York? We could drive there. It's...it's been a while since I visited home."

It was a feeling she knew all too well. She had not returned to her hometown in years, save for a brief visit to her father's penitentiary several months ago. She missed her old friends and family, but her life was now in Virginia, and she had no reason to return to her birthplace. This was her life, her choice...she couldn't screw it up, not this time.

"New York sounds good," she hummed. "I've been a few times, but never had the chance to look around. I've always wanted to go to a Broadway show."

Chris chuckled as he broke eye contact, sighing when his soft laughter faded into nothing.

"I'm from New York State, not New York City," he told her, voice retaining an amused quality. "Saratoga Springs...upstate."

Jill blinked three times, dumbstruck. Of course, when the words 'New York' were spoken, anyone's mind would jump to the bright lights and Broadway. Perhaps it was his personality? The chain-smoking party boy from New York...upstate had never crossed her mind.

"It's okay," he told her, laughter returning at the sight of her fiercely apologetic expression. "I'll take you to the big city; it makes a good half-way point. But I want to take you home. I haven't… I haven't visited my parents in a while. It would mean a lot to me if you were there."

She did not quite know how to take this admission, and so descended into a state of mild shock. Did he truly mean his words? A grave was a personal monument, and visitation symbolised the eternal bond with its inhabitant. Visiting a loved one was a sacred act, she knew that. During her high school days she would take one day every fortnight to sneak away from her friends and walk to the nearby graveyard, to eat her lunch by her mother's grave. Some may have thought it morbid, but to her it was a strange way of coming to terms with her sudden departure. After her father's arrest, it was one of too few opportunities she had to visit her mother, her aunt and uncle not believing in dwelling on the dead. But one day her friends had followed her, had crept to her side as she ate. She had never been so furious in all her life, had screamed at them, affronted by the invasion of her privacy and the encroachment on her mother's resting place. They had no right to be there, no right to invade the memory.

But Chris wanted to take her to his own private memory; he wanted to invite her in.

'You'd take him to see your mom,' she told herself. 'Why is it so hard to believe that he would want to do the same?'

He watched her expectantly, waiting for her reaction.

"Thank you," was all she could whisper. "It would mean so much to me, too."

His shoulders sagged in relief and his grip on her momentarily tightened.

"They would have loved you," he smiled. "Especially mom."

"Well, you're exactly the kind of boy my mother warned me about," she countered teasingly.

She found that tears pricked at her eyes when her mother's memory rushed forth. Had she not succumbed to an unfortunately aggressive form of lymphoma at a tragically young age, she knew that she would have welcomed Chris with open arms and a platter of home cooking...before sitting him down for a conversation akin to a thorough and often frightening interrogation. She was a kind woman at heart but could not tolerate the thought of a member of her family being hurt in any way.

"Thank God we never listen to our parents," he sighed, and gently pressed her closer to him, close enough that their lips briefly touched.

The moment was broken by heavy footsteps in the hallway, no doubt belonging to the man of the house. They treaded loudly down the hallway, beating against stairs as they carried his muscular frame onto the first floor of the house.

"We should probably go back outside," she sighed.

Pulling herself to her feet proved to be a difficult task, but luckily Chris reached for her fallen crutches before they caught her attention and pressed them into her hands, waiting for her to rest her weight on them before he appeared satisfied.

"Hey, now that we're officially partners," she spoke, the thought suddenly crossing her mind. "What do you think will happen?"

Their final meeting had proven successful, the bigwigs recognising that their relationship held no bearing on their actions. She surmised that Chris's heartfelt arguing had also helped their case, and though she thought it unnecessary at the time, she was now thankful that he had spoken up.

"More of the same," he guessed. "But they are _not_ splitting us up again. That was piss poor judgement."

Jill rolled her eyes, though she stepped closer to him, ignorant to the return of the footsteps and the mingling of two voices.

"I think we've established that I can take care of myself," she smirked.

"Hey, we were wondering where you'd gone," Rebecca called from the doorway, startling them both.

A light blush rose to her cheeks as she observed the two, Chris's hand at his girlfriend's waist, her body leaning into his.

"Barry found some leftover fireworks from the fourth of July," she explained, hanging onto the doorframe as though for dear life. "We thought we'd set them off...it seemed appropriate."

And with that she disappeared, leaving her friends to laugh amongst themselves.

"And what exactly are we celebrating?" Chris asked.

'Do we really need a reason?' Jill wondered. A quiet, calm day was not an easy thing to find in current times. The opportunity to simply kick back and relax did not come often. Surely when it did, it was worth celebrating?

"Getting older?" she suggested, unable to suppress quiet laughter.

"Speak for yourself."

Surely he expected his mark to attract an act of retaliation? Sure enough, she raised her eyebrows, daring him to add to his comment. But all he did was smile daringly, almost pleading her to push.

"I'm not the one who's going grey," she pointed out as she slid her fingers back into his soft hair.

It was something she had not failed to notice, but had not seen the need to bring up. It was but a single strand of hair that carried a different colour to those that surrounded it.

"I'm thirty years old, Jill," he laughed, though she sensed a sliver of insecurity in his tone. "I'm too young to go grey."

"Oh, really?" she challenged. "Then tell me, what is this?"

Stress could do funny things to a man, and she knew she should not laugh; their stress was shared and if she was not careful, she could be in his position when she turned thirty. But she liked to tease, and he knew that she was never truly serious. After all, he was not the only one who had aged. She too found that more effort was needed for the same results.

"Stop it!" he protested, batting her hand away. "I'm not going grey!"

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?"

"It's not funny! I'm not!"

He began to push her gently towards the door, seeking comfort in the presence of the friends that waited outside. Perhaps she had pushed too hard? He did have an ego, after all.

"You're still handsome," she assured him, stroking what she had previously wounded as she dug her crutches into the carpet. "But you know I don't care about that...I just got lucky."

"Lucky?" he repeated, and this time it was his eyebrow that rose.

"Mmhmm," she hummed, amused at where she had led the conversation. "Just look at that body..._damn_."

"Alright, alright," he laughed, ushering her forward with more haste this time. But that proud gleam in his eye told her that she had succeeded, had perhaps even sewn the seeds for a long, sleepless night.

As steps appeared to be an unavoidable difficulty with crutches, no matter the condition of her leg, Chris helped her down onto the patio, saved from tumbling at the last minute by Claire's arm. A muttered thanks was accepted and she hobbled over to the congregation, Barry's curses drifting over as a match flared and then immediately died in his hands.

"Do you think someone should help him?" Claire wondered aloud.

"We could," Chris sighed. "But isn't watching him struggle more fun?"

No sooner had the words been spoken, Barry jogged back over to the patio and an ear-splitting whistle permeated the air. Red sparks erupted above their heads, blue joining, then white, yellow, orange. The electric palette spread across the dark sky, blotting out the stars with its brilliance. There was something in the explosion of colour that was calming, that brought a smile to Jill's lips.

Claire sighed beside her, and she turned, the display raging on in the background but her mind suddenly oblivious to its artistry.

"Are you okay?" she asked, sensing something amiss.

The younger Redfield attempted a smile, but it fell short and she shrugged indifferently.

"I guess," she surmised. "It's..."

Her words were lost upon the breeze and she shook her head amidst soft laughter, the absurdity of the nature of her problem suddenly striking her.

"Jill, I'm sorry for all the times I teased you about your non-existent relationship with...," she sighed as she cocked her head to the side, indicating to her oblivious brother. "It's...it's really not that easy, is it?"

And she did not need to speak another word; Jill understood. But it was with a heavy heart that she accepted the obvious. Claire's interest in Leon was no secret, but even she had not known the depths to which her feelings grew. Leon was rarely around, business always taking him where they were not. She did not doubt that it was he Claire spoke of; they were in the exact same position she and Chris had been in barely six months ago, and she knew that it was an awful place to be.

"No," she reluctantly agreed. "But it gets easier. Trust me, something good is waiting for you."

Claire did not believe her words but accepted them anyway, and accepted the arm that was offered, irrespective of the crutch that fell to the grass. Jill swore quietly but left the aid on the ground, irritated by the mere sight of the thing.

The show slowly wound to a close, but not a single soul moved. Was it a moment they did not wish to end? It was in Jill's mind, though it was she who glanced at the others, waiting for someone to make a move.

They all knew what lay ahead, each and every one of them. As they walked through that front door and out to their respective vehicles, they would be walking into uncharted territory, not knowing when or even if they would all meet again. Perhaps they wouldn't, perhaps this was truly the end. The BSAA would steal three of them, a gruelling residency program absorbing Rebecca's free time, Barry's gun shop and family binding him.

Behind her, Jill felt Chris's arm move, hand touching upon his sister's shoulder. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and she smiled, he returning it happily. She could not move, could only feel her grip on them both tightening. She was never good with farewells, and this sure felt like one.

But, from somewhere in the silence, Barry's voice broke through, brought one last smile to each of their lips. She did not know how serious he was, knew that he saw things as she did by the tone of his voice. But it was what they needed to hear, what they _wanted_ to hear.

"So...same time next month?"

* * *

**AN** - Yes, I know that sucked. Aargh, you wouldn't believe how difficult this was to write. Blame underplanning, or maybe just the fact that when it came to writing this I realised that there wasn't really much left to tell. There won't be a oneshot after all. I realised that it would be a little redundant, and what I wanted to show could easily fit into the sequel as flashbacks.

Speaking of the sequel...  
Those of you who read and liked The Demon in My Shadow may be pleased to know that the sequel is actually the idea that oneshot came from. It was kind of a practice, testing the idea. It is set post-RE5, and has the potential to be a lot darker than what I have previously written. It has a similar theme to Only Through the Pain at first, but I assure you it's a completely different story ;). There will be love triangles, there will be angst, and there will be action and as it is post-RE5, nobody is safe (oh, I love that ^_^). I'm actually a little worried because it's quite possibly the biggest story/idea I've attempted so far lol. It will be rated M to be safe; though there won't be M content at the start there likely will be later on. There will be returning characters, both from the game and OCs. It will also likely be my last angst-tinged fic. I want to try my hand at something different after this ^_^.

That's about all I have to say, everything else will be covered in the prologue. Hopefully it will be up sooner rather than later. The title of the new story will be At Eternity's Gate, so watch out for it ;).

I just want to take this opportunity to say one last _huge_ thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/supported me through this story. It has been a difficult journey but we made it and I am truly grateful for all your support! And to everyone who reviewed since last chapter..._Valentine Virus, Ninja-Gnome, Black Metalmark, Afro Spirit, Kenshin13, Monkeyman88j, xSummonerYunax, tek, xwittychickx, anonymous, _and _cjjs._ Thank you!


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